


gold to you

by laurenswriting



Series: could be blue, could be you [6]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: (they gotta go through hell to get there but they do it i promise), (yes that means imane and idriss are twins), AU, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Bipolar Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exes to Lovers, Fluff, Found Family Dynamics, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Break Up, abandoment issues out the wazoo, airport scenes, also everyone's the same age in this for simplicity's sake, spot the canon references!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 08:11:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21454831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurenswriting/pseuds/laurenswriting
Summary: “it’s going to kill me to leave you,” eliott whispers.“it’s going to kill me to watch you go,” lucas answers.or: when eliott moves away, a piece of lucas’ heart goes missing. two years later, it comes back. (something’s still missing, though)
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant, background Imane/Sofiane
Series: could be blue, could be you [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1400935
Comments: 81
Kudos: 270





	1. no ends, just greys and half-lives

**Author's Note:**

> *emerges from my writing cave* HI Y'ALL LONG TIME NO SEE!!! 
> 
> so this monster has been over two months in the making (i've basically been working on this and only this since i posted the last chapter of yjft) and i'm so so proud of how it's turned out so far. 
> 
> shoutout to [cléa](https://lallemanlucas.tumblr.com) for sending me the prompt that inspired it all: we dated in high school but then you moved away but now you’re back in town
> 
> i'm v lucky to have some amazing beautiful talented friends who were so kind as to help me out as betas for this fic. thank you to [amanda](https://pinky-promisekisses.tumblr.com), [joanna](https://oheliotts.tumblr.com), [tess](https://feathered-minds.tumblr.com), and [zheen](https://tpanda073.tumblr.com) for all your help. you have seriously made this fic what it is and i could not have done this without you!!! love you all ♥♥♥ 
> 
> you can find my inspo playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Z104M3YK88waQQ6xCrSXE?si=uS5BmldvTyu628JDQmPIHQ) if you want the Full Reading Experience
> 
> work title from ["By the time you've finished your coffee" by Korantemaa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2mj5JrBxwqA)
> 
> hope y'all enjoy this one :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from ["forever//over" by EDEN](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2FFdYZ1ZsbA)
> 
> hope you enjoyyyyyy ♥♥

Sixteen and hopelessly in love, Lucas stands in front of Eliott’s apartment with shaking fingers, desperate to not drop his spare key as he opens the door. He slips it into his pocket after letting himself in, and he kicks off his shoes and heads upstairs. Eliott knows Lucas is coming over; he just doesn’t know why. And, to be fair, Lucas doesn’t quite know why either.

He just knows that it hurt to wake up this morning, ripped from a dream where he was doing nothing more than holding Eliott’s hand.

There’s something prodding at the back of his mind, a spike of determination flooding down to his chest and coating his heart. It pushes him forward, pushes him up the stairs and down the hall until he’s outside of Eliott’s bedroom.

He knocks once.

There’s a laugh from inside, slipping through the cracks of the threshold, and the door swings open.

“You know you don’t have to knock, Lucas,” Eliott says with a smirk, stepping back to let his best friend in. He keeps talking, sitting back down at his desk and putting pen to paper once more. He’s bouncing his leg under the table, and Lucas can see how Eliott’s pencil case rattles with each jump of his heel. Eliott can’t stand extra noise while he draws.

Lucas inches into the room slowly, staying by the doorway as he twists his hands together. His eyes are glued to Eliott’s back, sliding over the tension in the boy’s muscles as he hunches over his art. Eliott’s still speaking, rambling on about whatever he saw on his walk home, but Lucas can’t really process what he’s saying.

There’s static buzzing in his brain, and the only way to turn it off is to talk.

“Eliott, I need to tell you something.”

Eliott’s leg stills. His head shoots up and Lucas flinches, the air catching in his chest as he meets Eliott’s eyes. His pupils are blown wide, a little sad as he takes in the sight of Lucas nearly plastered to the wall, and he sinks his teeth into the corner of his bottom lip. Eliott’s pen clatters to the desk and it echoes through the silent room. Lucas squares his shoulders.

“B-Before you do, Lucas, I —"

“I love you,” Lucas blurts out, cutting off the other boy. His words are jumbled, and they trip over each other in their mad dash to Eliott. When they hit, though, there’s silence, and Lucas lets them settle and flood the space between them before he continues. “Like _that_.”

A pause, then, “What?”

“I’m in love with you, Eliott” Lucas whispers, voice low to conceal the tremor running through him. His words hang in the air for a moment, suspended between the sharp ticks of Eliott’s bedside clock and the specks of dust swirling in the sunlight. Eliott is still, though, and Lucas heart hardens with every slow breath he takes. 

“Lucas, please,” Eliott mutters. His eyes are closed, screwed together so tightly it looks painful, and regret seeps into Lucas’ bloodstream.

“I am,” Lucas insists, stronger this time. It draws a whimper out of Eliott, low and broken at the back of his throat, and Lucas falters. He’s fucked them up now, he knows he did. “I’m sorry.”

Eliott opens his mouth but nothing comes out, lips moving around soundless words sure to hurt Lucas. (He sees it coming, has seen it coming for years now, but if you never try, you never know, right?)

“Y-You can’t,” Eliott finally croaks out, gripping his desk chair so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Not now, not —”

Wait. _Can’t?_

“Why not now?” Lucas interrupts, taking a tense step forward. He knew he’d be rejected: an _it’s not you, it’s me_ moment or an _I like someone else_ confession, careful and sympathetic with a promise of friendship despite feelings. His blood burns with the knowledge that something is off, something is _wrong,_ because the Eliott that Lucas loves wouldn’t turn him away like this. He wouldn’t. 

“What’s wrong with right now?” Lucas asks. “Why _can’t_ I love you, Eliott?”

“Because I’m leaving.”

Eliott, head bowed in unease, winces as he says it, like the words are scraping and scratching his vocal cords as they escape. Lucas freezes.

“What do you mean you’re _leaving?”_ They’re barely words when Lucas asks. Just breath pushing past his lips, wheezing into the silence, too fearful to put any strength behind the syllables.

Eliott glances up at Lucas through his eyelashes, and if Lucas wasn’t so scared right now, he’d relish in being on the receiving end of such a stare.

“You know how my dad has been traveling a lot lately? For work?” Lucas nods, silent. “He got a promotion. The company is transferring him to a new office.”

“Where?”

Eliott’s chest rises, falls. His shuddering breath sends a shiver of terror down Lucas’ spine. Eliott gulps, rough and watery, a half-sob echoing through the room, and slowly stands.

“Montreal.”

Lucas feels his face go slack, numbness creeping through his veins as he stares at Eliott, stares at the boy with tears clinging to his lashes, wary eyes tracking Lucas’ reaction to the news.

Canada. An entire fucking ocean away.

No more study sessions out in the courtyard, no more Demaury-Lallemant family dinners, no more trips to art galleries full of Eliott’s analysis and Lucas’ teasing, the two of them darting from painting to painting to find the most ridiculous artwork there.

They were already planning on moving in together for uni. (They’d get a big place to share with the rest of the guys, of course, but still — they were going to get an apartment together.)

His knees buckle, falling out from under him as he stumbles backwards. A trembling hand reaches out to Lucas but he dodges Eliott’s grasp, slumping against the door instead.

He feels like some pathetic, worn-out kid’s toy, picked up and thrown across the room to slam into chairs and tables and catch on the edges of Eliott’s every word. Lucas should’ve torn his clothes by now, broken a limb, twisted his head backwards. A part of him should be missing (he thinks it already is) but every muscle is tensed with the need to protect, to hold himself together and let nothing slip away.

“How long have you known?” Lucas chokes out.

“Few days.” A shaky breath. “I’ve been…I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you —”

“Oh, and you thought _now_ was a good time?” Lucas blurts out, pushing off the desk to face Eliott. His chest feels tight, too tight, like there’s not enough air in his lungs, in the room, in the world. “_Now_, when I’ve…when I’ve finally —”

“Lucas, look at me.” Eliott takes two strides forward and he’s in front of Lucas, hands on his cheeks and tilting the boy’s chin up. Lucas goes easily, lifting up onto his toes with a gasp and pressing his forehead to Eliott’s. “You have _no idea_ how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” Eliott breathes, rubbing the tips of their noses together as he shakes his head. “And if I wasn’t leaving —”

“Who says you have to leave?” Lucas cuts in, urgent as he reaches out to grasp at Eliott’s t-shirt. He curls the worn fabric in his fist, dragging the other boy as close as possible, only an inch of hope between them. “You have other family in Paris, right? Can’t you just stay with them instead? Or find a flatshare?”

Eliott sighs, shakes his head. The air turns cold. “Tried that already,” he explains. “Mom refuses to have the family split up.”

“Fuck, Eliott.” Lucas sighs, bowing his head and staring down at the floor. Their feet are lined up perfectly, Lucas notes, mismatched socks one after the other creating stripes on the carpet. He wants Eliott to paint it. He wants to keep that painting forever.

Tears spring to Lucas’ eyes, and he’s so focused on not letting them fall that he nearly misses the kiss Eliott presses to the top of his head.

“I know,” Eliott whispers. Another kiss. “I _know,_ Lucas, and I’m so sorry.”

Lucas looks up, reconnecting their gazes, and he finds his own despair reflected in Eliott’s eyes. “Don’t be,” he mutters. “You didn’t choose this, you know?”

“I would never choose this.” Eliott’s voice sounds thick, Lucas thinks, like the words are heavy on his tongue as he speaks. “Never.”

Eliott smooths his thumb over Lucas’ cheek, watching as he just barely scrapes the edge of Lucas’ lips. It’s a slow drag, like he’s taking his time learning the curves of Lucas’ face. It feels reverent.

A tear falls.

“Don’t cry,” Eliott whispers, but his cheeks are wet.

Lucas lets out a laugh, a simple and sad burst of air, and reaches up to swipe away Eliott’s tear tracks. “I could say the same to you,” he teases, and at least it gets Eliott smiling.

(Eliott’s eyes get a little darker when he cries, Lucas notices. He’s never been close enough to realize.)

Eliott sniffles, running another reverent finger across Lucas’ jawline. “Come here.”

Lucas slams himself into Eliott’s chest, curling close. He fits himself into every crevice, nosing along Eliott’s collarbone, tracing the dip in his lower back, running his knuckles between the boy’s shoulder blades. And Eliott slumps into Lucas, really, dropping his head to brush his lips over Lucas’ cheek and neck.

“It’s going to kill me to leave you,” Eliott whispers.

“It’s going to kill me to watch you go,” Lucas answers.

They stay there for a moment, breathing each other in, and Lucas thinks this feels like home. There’s safety in Eliott’s arms, he realizes, when they’re wrapped so tightly around his torso it feels like he’ll have bruises in the morning. Lucas clings to Eliott, desperate to hold onto this one miracle of a touch for as long as possible, but something tells him his time is running out.

“Eliott?” he asks, the name mumbled into the crook of Eliott’s neck.

“Yeah, love?”

(And fuck. If Lucas had known Eliott would start calling him _that_ he would’ve confessed his feelings a long time ago.)

Lucas ignores the flare of warmth in his chest as he pulls back a bit, eyes tracing over Eliott’s jawline as he gains the courage to ask his question: “When do you leave?”

Eliott huffs, gnawing at his lip as he avoids Lucas’ imploring gaze. “Saturday.”

Lucas crushes his eyes shut. “_Fuck_, Eliott.”

(He feels like that kid’s toy again. He thinks he has a week left until he’s tossed into the trash, broken past the point of repair.)

“I know. I’m sorry, Lucas, I’m so sorry.”

Eliott mutters apologies as they sway in place, tucking Lucas back into his arms and dropping kisses to his hair. It’s everything Lucas had ever dreamed of in a situation he couldn’t see in even his worst nightmares.

(Would it hurt less if he hadn’t told Eliott? If his feelings were still secrets tucked in the deepest corners of his heart? Or would the pain of never knowing burst through his veins and destroy him from the inside out?)

Lucas burrows further into Eliott’s chest, craning his neck to brush his lips over his exposed collarbone. He rests his forehead against the boy’s shoulder and lets his eyes close, focusing on the soft scrape of Eliott’s fingernails against his spine and the burning heat of lips by his ear.

It’s dizzying, really, to feel wanted and _loved_ like this. It makes Lucas brave.

“Well, fuck it, then,” he starts, pulling back despite Eliott’s protests. “Eliott Demaury, we’re about to have the best fucking week of our lives.”

Eliott’s frown flashes into a smirk. (It fades quickly, but it’s still there. Lucas counts it as a victory.) “Are we now?”

“Yep,” Lucas insists, popping the _p_ with a sharp nod. “Anything and everything you’ve ever wanted to do in Paris. Want to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower? Done. Camping out in _La Petite Ceinture?_ Sure. A day at the zoo where we just look at racoons and hedgehogs? Of course. Hell, we can even go to Disneyland if you want to!”

Eliott is laughing now and his eyes are shining, glittering aquamarines just as bright as the day Lucas met him.

“Whatever you want, Eliott. I mean it.”

“Okay,” Eliott whispers, shuffling closer and bringing his hands back up to Lucas’ jaw. He fits there, Lucas thinks. His palms are perfectly curved to cup Lucas’ cheeks. Lucas wants them there all the time. “Okay.”

Eliott’s grin is blinding, though it wavers, and Lucas reaches up to trail the tip of his finger along Eliott’s chin. Eliott’s smile grows.

“Can I kiss you now?” he whispers, and Lucas’ heart settles.

“Please do.”

Eliott is shy as he leans in, inch by inch, breath by breath.

Lucas sucks in a gasp at the first touch of their lips and Eliott’s cheeks tighten under Lucas’ fingers, a hesitant smile breaking through. Slowly, Eliott closes the distance between them to kiss him fully, capturing Lucas’ lips with the softest of pressures.

And he’s spent the past three years imagining this moment, clasping his hands together in prayer for fireworks or lightning or even the hint of a spark between them.

Reality, though, is better. It’s calm, lips slotting together with practiced ease, falling into comfort. And yeah, the tips of Lucas’ fingers buzz a bit as they slide through Eliott’s hair, but it’s more reassuring than anything. A sign that he’s done something right, for once, and that maybe Lucas didn’t break them beyond repair. Maybe he made them stronger.

It feels like a homecoming, really.

Lips tingling and lungs burning, Lucas pulls back but Eliott doesn’t let him go far, wrapping an arm around his waist to close the last inch of space between them.

“Finally,” Lucas whispers.

Eliott laughs into Lucas’ mouth and it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. He leans in to press their smiles together again (and again and again and again).

“Best week ever,” Lucas whispers when they break apart, and the promise makes Eliott’s eyes shine.

“Best week ever.”

* * *

They go everywhere.

Museums and bakeries and record shops and bookstores. They become tourists in their own city, exploring landmarks and curving alleyways, filling Eliott’s backpack with cheesy souvenirs and loading his phone with photos.

Lucas tells Eliott he loves him at the top of the Eiffel Tower with the sunset behind them, and Eliott smiles so much they can barely kiss. They watch the fireworks together at Disneyland. Eliott spray paints their initials in a corner of _La Petite Ceinture,_ and Lucas takes a picture and sets it as his phone background. Lucas even throws a going-away party in the park with all their friends, and there’s beer and music and a few tears, but it’s good. It’s all good.

Until, that is, the end of the week, because that’s when they go to the airport.

They walk up to the international terminal as a unit, Lucas and the Demaury family forming their own cube in the crowd. Lucas hugs Eliott’s parents first and gets a kiss on his forehead as Mrs. Demaury holds him tight. They’re his second family, really, and Lucas would be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss them, too.

They say goodbye (Lucas hates that word), and Mr. Demaury claps a hand on Eliott’s shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready, son,” he says, and Eliott’s parents start the long walk to their gate. Lucas watches them go through passport check and disappear behind the doors before he turns to Eliott.

“So, this is it, huh?” Lucas says, squeezing the other boy’s palm as they creep up to the terminal entrance. There’s a sliding door in front of them, frosted glass forming a barrier Lucas won’t be able to cross. He can’t take his eyes off of it.

“Don’t say that, Lucas, please.”

“I know.” Lucas shakes his head, embarrassed by his own words. “I know it’s not, but —”

“It feels like it,” Eliott decides, tugging on their joined hands so that they face each other. His eyes are already red and Lucas is sure he’s no better.

He gulps, giving Eliott a sad nod. “It does.”

Eliott pulls Lucas in, clutching at his shoulders and snaking strong arms around Lucas’ waist. Lucas breathes deep, closing his eyes to memorize the way they’re wrapped around each other, the way they fit together perfectly. He reaches up, smoothing his fingers along Eliott’s back to ease the tension caught between his shoulder blades.

It’s unfair, really, that Lucas only gets this for a week, that he gets barely any time to hold Eliott’s hand, kiss his forehead, love Eliott how he’s always wanted. He’s tried to pour as much of his heart into Eliott’s as possible over the last few days. Lucas can only hope it’ll stick.

(They should’ve had more time. And they would’ve, really, if Lucas had just plucked up the courage a little earlier, gotten over his stupid fears and insecurities and all that other bullshit. He hates that it took him so long to tell Eliott he loved him. They’ll get more time later, though. They will. They have to.)

Lucas leans back, craning his neck to look up at Eliott.

“Call me when you land, okay?” Lucas requests, running his knuckles across Eliott’s cheek.

“Of course.”

Lucas tries to breath deep, slow inhales as he noses along Eliott’s jawline, focusing on the feel of Eliott’s hand in his hair instead of the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. Eliott shifts, guiding Lucas further into his arms to press their foreheads together.

“I love you, Eliott,” Lucas whispers, so close his lips brush Eliott’s as he speaks.

Eliott nods, crushes their chests together as he pulls Lucas back in for another kiss.

“I’ll see you soon, love,” he whispers, urgent. “I’ll come back as soon as I can, I promise.”

Eliott presses a folded piece of paper into Lucas’ palm and kisses his knuckles as they close around the treasure. His thumbs trace Lucas’ veins, mapping the soft skin along his wrist with the most delicate of touches.

“I’m not going to say goodbye,” Lucas mumbles, clinging to Eliott.

Eliott brings Lucas’ hand back up to his lips. “Neither am I,” he says, and whispers _soon_ into the dips between Lucas’ fingers. He drops their hands and leans in for one final, lingering kiss.

Lucas nearly stumbles forward as they break apart, caught up in the feeling of Eliott pressed up against him, palms sliding against his cheeks. He opens his eyes at the last second, a futile attempt to delay the inevitable.

With a sigh, Eliott reaches down for his suitcase and starts to back away, slowly so Lucas can hold his hand until the last second.

Lucas’ first tears fall when he lets go, and from there all hell breaks loose.

He tries to keep it in, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to suppress the sobs, but it’s useless. Lucas chokes on a hiccup, a rough gasp rattling his chest, and bows his head as he coughs it away. He tries to watch Eliott as he heads towards the passport check, but Lucas’ vision is getting blurry and he forces himself to turn around to wipe at his tears. (Eliott has seen him cry enough already.)

He’s on his last sniffle, nearly with a grip on himself when someone grabs at his shoulders. Lucas startles as he’s flipped around and lips are pressed against his, warm and familiar but hungrier this time. Eliott pulls him close and Lucas responds in kind, desperate for one last taste, one last touch.

They split apart panting, Eliott’s bashful cheeks burning underneath Lucas’ fingertips.

“I-I’m sorry, I just —”

“I know.” Lucas nods, repeats it in a whisper as he cards through the hair at the back of Eliott’s neck. 

Eliott won’t meet his gaze, though, eyes darting across the terminal, cutting through the space above Lucas’ head. He looks to his left more often than not, towards those frosted glass doors. Lucas can feel them boxing he and Eliott in.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, running the tips of his fingers along the underside of Eliott’s chin. He tries for a smile, watery as Eliott finally looks at him with matching tears collecting along his lashes.

Eliott sighs and drops his forehead to Lucas’. His smile is small and definitely sad, but Lucas can see the hope pushing through the corners. The hand in Lucas’ hair tightens, clutching at the strands like they’ll keep Eliott on the ground, the slightest scrape of nails against his scalp.

“I’ll be back, Lucas,” he promises. “I _swear_ I’ll come back.”

“I know you will, Eliott,” Lucas says, and it’s more of a sob than a sentence as he surges up to catch Eliott’s lips once more. “I’ll be here. Whenever you come back, I’ll be here.”

Their kiss tastes like tears.

“I love you, okay?” Lucas breathes. Maybe if he says it enough it’ll brand itself onto Eliott’s skin, a permanent reminder of the boy back home waiting, hoping, longing. “I love you.”

Eliott lets out a choked sigh, a thin and broken sound, like Lucas’ words hurt. “I know,” he answers. “I’ll see you soon, love.”

Another aching kiss and he’s gone.

He walks up to the passport check, sniffling through the security agent’s questioning. Lucas sees the guard stamp and sign a few things, and then she’s handing Eliott his passport and waving him in the way of the doors.

Eliott trudges past the passport check and turns, and their eyes lock one more time, for the _last_ time. Lucas mouths _I love you_ as best he can through the hiccups.

(And what a pathetic picture they must make, sobbing all over each other in a corner made of goodbyes, refusing the end until the final moment on opposing sides of the terminal. Lucas can feel Eliott’s sadness from here, see it dripping down his elbows and knees, pooling at his feet and leaving a trail of defeat in his wake. He’s sure he’s Eliott’s mirror image.)

Eliott nods, lips bitten red, and his shoulders jerk with a sob. They hold each other’s gaze, an electric, storming ocean, and Lucas wishes time could stop for them just this once.

But then someone comes up behind Eliott, breaking his focus and demanding he move. A mumbled apology and Eliott is forced forward, pushed those last few steps through the barrier to the terminal.

The door shuts. Lucas shuts down with it.

* * *

He goes home in a daze, limbs uneasy as he crowds into the train to the city center, unsteady as he leans into the window on the bus ride home. His headphones are shoved into his ears but there’s no music playing. He’d rather listen to the numbing drone of the streets than risk catching the first notes of one of Eliott’s favorite songs.

By the time Lucas gets home, Eliott’s plane has already taken off.

He drags himself up to the front of the building and gets through the entrance gate, but he can’t go any further. Lucas clutches at the wrought iron for support, sliding down into a crouch as tears finally drip down his cheeks.

There’s a framed picture of Lucas and Eliott on his bedside table. Another three are taped up above his dresser. He has two of Eliott’s hoodies in his closet and there’s an entire drawer in his desk dedicated to the drawings and other little gifts he’s received from Eliott over the years. The plant by their couch was a housewarming gift from Eliott and his parents (its name is Virginia).

He’s everywhere.

Lucas can’t go inside. 

Instead, he breaks, loses himself in the memories of the past week. The happy hits him first: he thinks of how Eliott smiled at him as they wandered through the Centre Pompidou the other day, and how they shared a pain au chocolat outside the museum and Eliott kissed the melted chocolate off Lucas’ lips. But then he thinks of how they couldn’t pack a single box without crying yesterday, and how flat Eiott’s eyes looked as his gaze locked with Lucas’ for a final time, just before he crossed through the frosted doors to join his parents.

He replays it over and over in his head, a constant loop of the last words he and Eliott said to each other, hearts bared.

_I love you. _

_I know._

_I love you. _

_I know. _

_I love you._

_I know. _

Something’s missing.

Lucas hears a crinkle coming from somewhere inside his jeans, and he digs into a pocket to pull out to paper Eliott had given him earlier. He unfolds it, revealing another one of the boy’s drawings.

A racoon on a plane and a hedgehog on the ground, faces downturned: _Eliott #2027 has to leave Lucas #917 behind. _A raccoon and a hedgehog hugging at the top of the Eiffel Tower, hearts flying all around them: _Eliott #1721 gets to stay._

Looks like they’re in the universe where Lucas gets left behind. (No surprise there.)

_I love you. _

_I know. _

He never said it back.

Lucas punches the gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you would like to yell at me you may do so on my tumblr, [tawmlinsun](https://tawmlinsun.tumblr.com). ficpost is [here](https://tawmlinsun.tumblr.com/post/189106839809/gold-to-you-its-going-to-kill-me-to-leave) as well!!
> 
> (also the comments section is wide open for yelling) (also also kudos are much appreciated ♥)


	2. if you've ever said you missed me then don't say you've never lied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii i'm finally back with the next chapter!!! 
> 
> sorry for the delay on this one, y'all. physical health wasn't great, then mental health wasn't great, then the holidays hit and i got kinda swept up in it all. thank you for your patience ♥
> 
> once again, thank you to my beta angels, [amanda](https://pinky-promisekisses.tumblr.com), [joanna](https://oheliotts.tumblr.com), [tess](https://feathered-minds.tumblr.com), and [zheen](https://tpanda073.tumblr.com) for working with me on this chapter. y'all know i was a lil nervous for this one, and you've seriously helped enhance it and transform it into this angst monster i adore. love you lot to pieces 💖💖💖
> 
> fic playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Z104M3YK88waQQ6xCrSXE?si=uS5BmldvTyu628JDQmPIHQ) if you wanna give it a listen 
> 
> chapter title from ["jude law and a semester abroad" by brand new](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivLyrbPnBfE)
> 
> hope y'all like the impending angst train (don't say i didn't warn ya)

Lucas Lallemant has been in love with Eliott Demaury for five years.

For the first year, Lucas didn’t really know what he was feeling. He was thirteen and scared. Sure, his heart raced whenever Eliott threw a friendly arm around his shoulders, and maybe yeah, he found himself yearning for the boy’s company more often than not, but that’s just what best friends did, right? It was fine. He was fine.

(He wasn’t fine.)

The second year, Lucas _knew. _Eliott came over one day after school and he just fit there, right in the little Lallemant apartment, where Lucas’ bruised and battered heart was stored for safekeeping. And Eliott joked around with Lucas’ mom and he melted into the couch like it was his own and he shared his blanket with Lucas while they watched a movie and and and —

Eliott threw a piece of popcorn up in the air and the excitement in his eyes as he caught it on his tongue settled the storm in Lucas.

“Fuck, Lucas, did you see that?” Eliott had asked, smiling around the popcorn stuck in his teeth. “I got it!”

And Lucas thought _shit_ and _you’re beautiful_ and _I think I might love you_ but instead he answered, “Yeah, you did,” and his voice wavered around the fear and awe caught in his chest. (Eliott didn’t seem to notice, too busy trying to repeat his little miracle, leaving Lucas to tamp down the sparks bursting in the tips of his fingers. He sat on his hands the rest of the night.)

From that day on Lucas knew he loved Eliott. But Lucas also knew that life wasn’t kind to the people he loved, so he fought back as best he could. Maybe it was to protect Eliott, maybe it was to protect himself. It hurt the same either way.

Drawing away from the other boy became his daily mission. And he failed, he always failed, but at least he made the effort.

Lucas always pulled Yann down to sit between him and Eliott at lunch, even though they’d end up talking over Yann’s shoulders. They barely hung out alone, thanks to Lucas’ endless list of excuses (_I can’t, I promised my mama I would help her with…_ or _Now that dad’s gone I have to do this, and…)_, but they still walked each other to class and took the bus together to school.

And every time Eliott tried to check up on him and ask him about all those excuses (because he knew something was wrong, because he knew Lucas, because he cared and he cared and he cared), Lucas would just brush him off and say it didn’t matter. Say it was family stuff. 

It worked for a while, when Eliott was too nice to call Lucas on his bullshit and trusted that he had to work through things alone. (Too nice, too trusting. Lucas hated himself more with every lie he told Eliott.)

But the hardest bits were when they all hung out as a group. Lucas would duck around the room, tuning in and out of conversations as the guys argued about video games or complained about school. Eyes glazed over and staring down at his phone screen, he’d scroll through the same five posts over and over to distract him from Eliott’s curious, pained stares from the other side of the couch.

And when it got to be too much and the angry static in his head would only quiet when he caught a glimpse of gold-flecked hair and grey eyes, Lucas would shut himself down and shut everything out.

Lucas would sit there, phone blinking with dozens of notifications, and churn out song after song at the piano. His homework would go undone but his old music book would get more use than it had in years.

Sometimes it would take him a full week to resurface.

It was the worst year of his life, and Lucas still doesn’t think he deserved the boys’ understanding and forgiveness when he’d had enough of his own loneliness, when Lucas reached year three.

Because year three was when Lucas accepted it. He was in love with Eliott, and that wouldn’t be changing any time soon.

So, he kept it quiet, kept it to himself, went about his days as if his heart didn’t do somersaults in his chest whenever Eliott so much as said his name. It was hard, of course, reintegrating himself into the group with a cage locked around his heart, but he learned to make do with what he had. Lucas had always been good at settling for second-best.

Year three wasn’t quite a full year, though, because at the end, right before Lucas was about to trudge into a fourth year of being hopelessly in love with Eliott Demaury, he broke. Lucas told Eliott he loved him, and Eliott told Lucas he was leaving.

And so, for the fourth year Lucas was in love with Eliott, he loved him from thousands of miles away. But, he thought, at least Eliott was loving Lucas from thousands of miles away as well. (Maybe. Hopefully.)

The calls were daily at first, hours-long conversations scheduled in between parties and family dinners in the summer, and then classes as they moved into fall. Lucas was always yawning by the end, time differences and insomnia taking their toll. Eliott would end their calls with a soft _sleep well, love,_ and Lucas’ head would hit the pillow with Eliott’s voice echoing between his ears.

But then something changed. The calls turned into a weekly occurrence, a special Sunday treat, something to work towards as Lucas finished up his homework. Then Eliott only called once in December, but they were barely on the phone for an hour before Eliott had to go.

January passed. Radio silence.

Then February, then March, then April.

Lucas Lallemant is eighteen now. He hasn’t spoken to Eliott Demaury in over a year, but he’s been in love the entire time.

* * *

“It’s going to be a good night, boys!” Basile yells when Lucas opens the door, letting him, Yann, and Arthur into the apartment. Arthur is cradling a case of beer in his arms, and he immediately runs to the kitchen to open it up and distribute the bottles.

“You ready?” Yann asks, kicking off his shoes as Basile dashes by. Lucas shrugs.

“It’s just another party, you know?”

“Yeah, but we’re in _uni_ now, Lucas. New parties…” Yann trails off, wiggling his eyebrows, “new _people.”_

Lucas clears his throat, pushing past Yann to get to the kitchen. “Yeah, we’ll see,” he mutters.

Two hours and many beers later, they’re on their way to the party, joking on the metro and jumping around the sidewalks. Tonight’s party is farther away than usual, at an actual house instead of a cramped apartment, a side effect of university and wealthy friends with wealthier parents. Arthur scored them an invite from someone he met at orientation earlier in the week, citing it as their last chance to go wild before the semester begins.

Lucas isn’t planning on going _wild_, necessarily, but a night where he can just forget would be welcome.

Basile nearly trips on a discarded beer bottle as they turn the corner, skipping up the sidewalk with an exasperated Arthur on his heels.

Yann grips Lucas’ shoulders from behind, leaning in close to be heard over the pounding bass flowing out of the house two doors down.

“We’re finding you a boy tonight,” he mutters.

Fuck, they’ve been over this. “_Yann_,” Lucas huffs, shaking his head.

“New year, new start, alright, bro?” Yann’s face turns serious. “You deserve to move on.”

Lucas sighs, his heart warm with the strength of his best friend’s care, his soul cold with the two-year absence of the one it’s been longing for. “I’m trying, Yann. I really am,” Lucas insists.

(He’s not.)

He’s tried to find boys at parties, pulled them into dark corners and darker rooms, but it was always the same: their hair was too blond, or their eyes were more green than blue, or they were too tall, or they didn’t lean in close to listen to Lucas while he spoke, like Eliott always did.

It always fucking came back to Eliott.

Lucas hates that he hasn’t been able to move on, heart still stuck on a boy who, clearly, couldn’t give less of a fuck about Lucas and has moved on himself. And if Lucas had a choice in the matter, he would erase all memories of Eliott from his brain. Build himself a clean slate, start fresh, undo the ruin Eliott brought to his life.

It would be good for him, probably. And maybe tonight is the first step.

Yann shakes Lucas’ shoulders and snaps him out of his trance with a knowing smile. (If there’s anyone who knows Lucas as well as Eliott did, it’s Yann. Lucas doesn’t know if he’d be as almost-okay as he is now without him.)

They start up the driveway to find the house already stuffed to the brim with students. Inside, they edge their way into the crowd, immediately heading for the dance floor with a steady buzz thrumming through their veins.

Lucas lets himself get lost in the music (it’s shit, but at least it’s better than Daphné’s usual garbage). Limbs loose, he dances with the guys the whole night, drink after drink pushed into his hands as each boy makes a run to the kitchen. Basile always tries to grab them shots while Arthur whips up terrible mixed drinks that sting Lucas’ throat as they go down, but it’s Yann who makes sure they all drink water. Lucas sends a quick _thank you_ up to whichever divine entity blessed him (and the others, really) with Yann as a best friend.

The clock is inching towards 1 am when Lucas drains his cup again, and he nudges Arthur in the ribs. “Refills?” he asks.

Arthur lights up. “Refills, boys!” he yells as answering cheers rise up around them. “Who’s up?”

“It’s Lulu’s turn!” Basile screams over the music (a little too loud, but it’s Basile), and the other two immediately push Lucas forward, sending him vaguely towards the drinks table as they shout their requests after him. Lucas brushes them off for the most part (they’re getting beers and they’ll be happy about it) and focuses on elbowing his way off the dance floor.

Lucas stumbles to the kitchen, bursting out of the crowd with a disgruntled _hey!_ as he flings open the fridge. He shuffles around in there for a minute, trying to find a better beer brand than the shit they have on the table, but then a tingle starts up at the top of his spine. There’s a distant feeling of being watched poking at the back of his brain, and Lucas swipes the first four beers he can find before the eyes on him become hands.

He shuts the fridge and swivels around, planning his path through the chaos back to the boys. But before he can move an inch, his eyes catch on a figure off to the side and his entire world collapses.

Eliott.

They make eye contact for a split second before someone tugs on Eliott’s shoulder and pulls his attention away, but that’s all it takes to send Lucas’ mind spinning. He’s rooted to the spot — probably blocking the fridge but he doesn’t care — all too preoccupied with the boy across the room who keeps trying to look his way.

Fuck, why is Eliott _here?_ At this party, of all places? Lucas had _no idea_ Eliott would even —

He stops the thought in its tracks, gasping as Eliott sneaks another glance his way.

Lucas honestly thought he’d never see Eliott again and to have him here, now? With Lucas a year and a half deep into longing and wishing and failing to move on at every turn?

Lucas’ heart is beating so fast it’s threatening to crack through a rib.

Eliott’s hands are curled around his own bottle of beer, loose grip slick with beads of condensation and sweat. He’s wearing a button-up shirt in a garish print, something he would’ve longed after at the shops but never dared to pick up. Boots instead of sneakers, ripped jeans instead of sweats, a leather jacket instead of a hoodie.

From the neck down, he’s unrecognizable.

But now that Lucas is looking, _really_ looking after so many months of nothingness, Eliott isn’t much different than before, actually. Maybe a little older, a hint of stubble scratching along his chin, and maybe a little more worn out, shadows dark as night swirling below his eyes. His hair is longer, too, wild and tangled like it’s been pulled and ruffled by ten different hands on the way in.

Lucas knows Eliott but he also doesn’t. Not anymore.

(His eyes are the same, though. The end of the storm, a calming blend of grey and blue that promises more, promises sunshine and comfort and a kinder tomorrow. If Lucas looks closely, he can see the home he built for himself there tucked away in a corner.)

Eliott turns, does a double take when he finds Lucas still staring. Something in Lucas’ chest shifts when their stares connect, a crackling bolt of electricity transporting Lucas to the last time he saw Eliott.

_I love you. _

_I know. _

_Fuck_. With a gasp, Lucas whips around and slams the beers on the counter, reaching for the first empty cup he can find. There’s too many drinks and not enough time, so Lucas grabs the nearest bottle and starts pouring. He pours and he pours and he pours, not bothering with any sort of mixer, watching as his cup fills far past his usual limit. More more more more mo—

“Lucas.”

He halts with a jerk, his arm tensing to send splashes of liquor across the counter.

(Distantly, Lucas thinks of how nice it is to hear his name on Eliott’s lips again, poured into the air with a delicate touch, the way it was meant to be spoken.)

Lucas lets himself exhale, willing the fear out of his muscles as he places the liquor bottle back on the counter. He pulls in a deep breath but he catches a whiff of what he thinks is Eliott’s cologne and the air freezes in his lungs.

“H-Hello,” Lucas responds, choppy and too low to really be heard over the music.

“Hi.” There’s a smile in Eliott’s voice, a teasing lilt to it that scrapes down Lucas’ ribs and draws the blood straight from his beating heart.

He sounds _happy._ Eliott sounds happy and it’s everything Lucas has ever wanted for him but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t kill him to hear.

(He can do this. Lucas can do this. When Eliott brings up whoever he’s surely dating now, Lucas has a list of previous, real, totally not shitty dates he can mention. He doesn’t need Eliott’s fake sympathy tonight.)

Lucas gulps, straightening his shoulders as he fiddles with the liquor bottles on the table. “How have you been?” he asks.

“I’ve been okay,” Eliott drawls, shrugging as he steps forward.

“That’s good.”

He thinks it’s done, _hopes_ it’s done, but then Eliott slides closer.

“Listen, Lucas —"

“What are you doing here?” Lucas interjects, still staring at the dancing mass on the other side of the table. He’d step away if he could, but he’s boxed in by the couple pouring drinks next to him. (The hairs on his arm are standing up straight like they’re reaching out to Eliott, aching for the hint of a touch.)

Surprised, Eliott clears his throat. “I’m, uh, I’m back.” Lucas snaps his head to the side. Eliott is already staring.

“You’re back,” he repeats, monotone.

Eliott takes it in stride, though, nodding as he sips at his beer. “Came back for uni,” he says. “I’ll probably go to Montreal for holiday breaks, but I’m in Paris for good.”

_Oh, fuck._ “H-How long have you been back for good?”

“Few days.”

Lucas snorts into his drink, shaking his head. Fate has a cruel sense of irony.

“Who knows you’re back?”

“Just Idriss and Sofiane.” He shrugs, waves it off, doesn’t notice Lucas’ rising brow. “And you, now.”

Lucas hums and brings his drink to his lips, taking a long pull of the newly-necessary alcohol. It stings, and Lucas holds the cup up by his mouth for an extra second to mask his grimace. “You stayed in touch with them, then?” His chin lifts as he stares Eliott down, delighting in the discomfort that flashes across the boy’s face.

_Gotcha._

“Well, not as much as I’d like,” Eliott stammers as he turns fully towards Lucas, but Lucas looks away. He refuses to collapse into the boy’s magnetic pull. (His lips are tingling with the need to drag themselves along Eliott’s shadowed jawline. Lucas hates it.)

Lucas’ stare holds steady as he examines the jumping crowd, ignoring Eliott’s slow lean forward and the continuously closing distance between them.

“It’s good to see you, Lucas.”

_Nope. Don’t engage._

Lucas clenches his jaw, biting into the rim of his cup. He thinks the plastic cracks under the hope in Eliott’s voice.

“I’ve missed you.”

_Fuck that. _

Lucas gives a minute shake of his head before slamming his cup down on the counter beside him, letting a few drops slosh out of the top as he storms out of the house, leaving Eliott behind in the kitchen.

The fucking _audacity_ of Eliott to say that shit to Lucas after everything, after completely fucking ghosting him from an ocean away, is unbelievable. _I’ve missed you_. Bullshit. Absolute bullshit.

Fuck him.

Lucas can barely think, too angry and hurt and _sad_ to get his brain in order, and he lets himself get pushed around by the dancing crowd as he tries to escape the party. When he finally stumbles out the door, it’s to a neighborhood coated in darkness and a night sky littered with stars.

Late August air sticks to the back of his neck as he flicks his gaze around to find the front of the house mercifully empty, and he starts stomping his way back to the street, completely disregarding the walkway on his other side.

No detours, no wasting time.

_It’s Lucas’ turn to leave Eliott behind, before Eliott can leave him again. _

“Lucas! Lucas, wait!”

_Shit._

Lucas stops short, lightning zapping through him at the sound of Eliott calling for him, but he snaps out of it and keeps moving across the lawn. Footsteps thunder down the porch and Lucas knows what’s about to happen, sees it flash before his eyes. He doesn’t know if he’s ready for it, but he lets Eliott catch his wrist and turn him around anyway.

“Lucas?” Eliott’s eyes are wide with concern, and venom seeps into Lucas’ bloodstream. Eliott chooses to worry about him now? _Now?_

Fuck him. Really.

“Why did you leave?” Eliott drags his thumb over the edge of Lucas’ palm, nails scraping the pounding veins below. It sends sparks across Lucas’ skin, but they burn with anger.

He wrenches his wrist out of Eliott’s grip, stepping back to put distance between them. For the first time in five years, Lucas needs there to be distance between him and Eliott. (A few inches hurt more than a few thousand miles.)

“Are you fucking kidding me, Eliott?”

Eliott blinks, taken aback at the bite in Lucas’ voice. “N-No, what —”

“You haven’t talked to me in a year and a half and one of the first things you say to me is that you _missed me?_ And you have to ask why I walked out? Seriously?”

Eliott sighs, dropping his hands to his sides.

“It’s the truth, Lucas.”

“Like hell it is,” he seethes. 

A beat. A held gaze. A defiant chin lifted in anger.

“You don’t get to miss me,” Lucas starts. “You’re the one who stopped answering my texts. You’re the one who stopped picking up when I called. _You,_ Eliott.”

Eliott’s chin drops to his chest, shoulders scrunching up in that annoyingly endearing way Lucas has always loved. Lucas stamps down the flash of warmth in the pit of his stomach. “I-I know,” Eliott tries, scraping a fingernail across his bottom lip. “I’m so sorry, Lucas, and —”

“I don’t want your bullshit apologies, Eliott,” he interrupts, taking a step back. “What I want is to not see you right now.” Another step, this one painful. “Or ever again, maybe, I don’t know.” He whispers that last bit and his shoulders hunch forward, voice thinning out as if the words were wrapping around his throat and squeezing the air from his windpipe on their way into the open. (He wants Eliott to hear him. He wants to take everything back immediately.)

Eliott’s head whips up, mouth agape as he stares at Lucas with wide eyes.

“No,” he gasps, stumbling forward to reach for Lucas again. But with every inch Eliott moves closer, Lucas darts back. “No, no, Lucas, please, _no.”_

Lucas throws a hand up between them, palm flat to halt Eliott in his tracks. He can’t look at the other boy so he stares at the back of his hand instead, the scars across his knuckles glowing underneath the light of the moon. It still hurts sometimes, his hand, though the bruises have long since faded and the cuts have long since healed. He flexes his fingers and feels echoes of iron-laced pain running up to his wrist.

“Eliott, I…"

“Can we please go talk about this somewhere else?” Eliott tries, lip trembling. “My apartment is a couple blocks from the metro, and —”

“I’m _not_ going to your apartment, Eliott,” Lucas cuts in. “No fucking way.” Because if he says yes now, he’ll say yes later, and Lucas isn’t going to let himself fall into Eliott again. He _can’t._ He didn’t spend the last two years living half a life just to forgive Eliott in a single night.

(And god, how he wants to forgive Eliott right now, gather him up in his arms and press kisses along the boy’s cheeks, bringing his blush to the surface. But just _looking_ at Eliott hurts, and Lucas needs the pain to bleed out of him before they can move forward.)

“Lucas, there’s stuff you don’t understand, stuff I haven’t told you,” Eliott starts, and his voice wobbles around the string of fear holding his words together. “Please just let me explain.” Shuffling half a step closer, the moonlight shifts as he does, making his dark circles darker and the dip of his collarbones deeper. Even through his anger, the cut of Eliott’s cheekbones sends Lucas’ pulse into a frenzy.

“Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it.” Lucas starts to back away, shaking his head. “Go back inside, Eliott.”

Lucas turns, heading down the sloping lawn with Eliott’s eyes trained on his retreating figure. They’re burning into his back, drilling holes on each side of his spine with every step he takes. He ignores them the best he can, forcing everything out of his mind. He’s almost at the edge of the lawn when —

“You said you’d be here!” Eliott yells, so broken yet so full of fire that it makes Lucas stop in his tracks and whip around. He sounds desperate. He _looks_ desperate, shoulders tense and lip quivering. “You said you’d be here whenever I came back!”

Lucas thinks of the international terminal, of frosted glass doors and teary kisses and hands clinging to each other in devastation. And he loves Eliott, he loves Eliott, _he loves Eliott._

But then he thinks of _I love you_ and _I know_ and Lucas’ heart hardens.

“I’m back, Lucas, so _be here. _Be here and listen to what I have to say, _please._” Eliott’s practically begging, a second away from falling to his knees, and as much as it kills Lucas to not take the boy in his arms right here and now, he’s chained to the ground. Lucas is not moving, unless it’s away.

“That was _before_ you left me in the dark for eighteen fucking months, Eliott,” he digs, voice splintering on the final few syllables.

Eliott purses his lips, chewing along the thin skin there as he averts his gaze. “There was…a _reason_ I disappeared,” he says with a grimace, like he’s uncomfortable, like it hurts to admit. (_Or,_ says a voice deep in Lucas’ mind, _like he’s lying through his teeth._) “Will you _please_ let me tell you?”

Lucas can feel the _yes, of course, I’m here, I’m still here_ at the tip of his tongue. But Eliott is still not looking at him, and so he swallows it down.

“I want to, Eliott,” Lucas admits, low and watery. “I do. But I can’t do this again.”

“Do what?”

“Let you in,” he whispers. _And watch you leave,_ he thinks.

“Why not?” Eliott presses, pushes, and Lucas’ chest cracks.

“Because it was real for me, Eliott!” It comes out as a shout, raw and grating, and Lucas has to clear his throat of tears before he can speak again. (Fuck, he was doing _so well_, staying stronger than he thought himself capable. _Don’t let the love leak through._) “We were real for me.”

Eliott parts his lips but no sound escapes, and he flounders as he takes a tentative step towards Lucas. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucas sees Eliott’s hand twitch, fingers stretching and curling around an invisible match. Lucas clenches his fists. “It was…it was real for me, too, why wouldn’t —”

“No, it wasn’t,” Lucas insists, silencing the other boy. “It wasn’t, because if it were, we wouldn’t be here right now, doing this. If it were, we would be inside, you know?” He sighs, casting a glance off to his side where the laughter rings clear and bass rumbles the walls. Lucas mourns what could have been. “I would’ve picked you up from the airport with croissants from your favorite bakery. I would’ve helped you move in and we would be at this party to celebrate. You would be my boyfriend and we would be _happy_, Eliott.”

“Why can’t we have that now?”

“Why can’t we…” Lucas repeats, stepping back with a shock of a laugh, pushing rough hands through his hair to tug at the strands at the base of his neck. He lets out another laugh but it turns into a sob halfway through, low and pathetic.

Eliott watches on with a tight jaw and Lucas knows that face. It’s the one he made when Lucas said he loved him for the first time, and the one he made when he left for Montreal. It’s the face Eliott makes when he watches Lucas break his own heart with the weight of his love.

Lucas has seen this face three times too many.

“You know, you never actually broke up with me,” he finally says, gaze now trained to the ground. “No call, no terrifying _we need to talk_ text. You just disappeared like it was nothing.”

Eliott inches forward, and Lucas can feel the boy’s stare burning into his forehead. He can’t look up. “It wasn’t nothing, Lucas, I swear to you.” (Eliott’s voice is thin and scared, and Lucas still can’t look up.)

He scoffs. _Sure,_ he thinks.

“What do you…” Eliott starts, and Lucas can hear the crunch of grass beneath his feet as he shifts around. “Do you think I’m lying to you right now? Are you serious, Lucas?”

He finally, _finally,_ lifts his head to find anger flashing across Eliott’s features.

“You and I both know you don’t give a fuck about me anymore, Eliott,” Lucas mutters, words running over each other in their race to fill the silence. His chest caves in on the last syllable and his ribs shake as he forces air back in his lungs.

“Why would you _even think _—"

“You left me!” Lucas yells, curling his shirt into his fist, right above his heart. The scream surprises him, shocked by his own fury, and he gulps down an angry sob. It chokes him and he breathes deep to get his stammering heart under control. “You fucking left me behind, just like you said you would.”

“I _never_ said that!”

“Yes, you did, Eliott,” Lucas insists, stumbling closer. “The drawing? _Eliott #2027 has to leave Lucas #917 behind. Eliott #1721 gets to stay,_” he rattles off, watching as recognition flashes on the other boy’s face, quick and fearful.

Eliott startles, straightening up to his full height as a single tear drops down his cheek. “Y-You memorized it?” he whispers.

But Lucas barely registers the surprise in Eliott’s question, too busy pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes to catch his tears in their tracks.

“Fuck, I should’ve seen it coming, right?” he breathes, nearly coughing around a sob edging its way up his throat. “Everyone…everyone leaves.”

His dad, all those years ago, running off with a new wife and new kids and a new family. Eliott, shipped overseas with the rest of Lucas’ second family, taking half of Lucas’ heart with him and letting it disintegrate as silence spread between them. His mother, ripped from their home and sending his life into a tailspin months before graduation, forcing him into a cramped flatshare and a routine built around hospital visiting hours. Hell, even their dog ran away when Lucas was eight.

Everyone fucking leaves. (But sometimes they come back.)

“Lucas,” Eliott starts, voice tense. “I didn’t choose to leave.”

“I’m not talking about you getting on a plane,” Lucas spits, and that shuts Eliott up.

He falters, running his fingernails across his bottom lip as he searches for the words. “I’m not going to leave again, Lucas,” Eliott finally says. It sounds final, decided, but the corners of his eyes are watery with uncertainty.

_Bullshit,_ Lucas thinks, and a flame sparks in the pit of his stomach. “Who’s to say you won’t? You already left once.”

“Me!” Eliott answers. “_I’m _saying I won’t leave you.”

A sob shakes Lucas’ chest, and his next words are weary: “Fuck, Eliott, stop pretending you care about me.”

It’s exhausting, this ruse, this game of play-pretend that Eliott insists on keeping up. Because why should Lucas trust a word Eliott says when he has a hundred unanswered texts sitting in his phone?

Eliott huffs, fuming. “Stop putting words in my mouth and let me fucking talk!”

His voice is so loud and his face is so angry and Lucas has never seen this fire before. It’s so at odds with what he expected from his first encounter with Eliott that it baffles him. (This doesn’t look like someone who doesn’t care, and he _needs_ Eliott to not care because he doesn’t know how this misery will end otherwise.)

And because Lucas is Lucas, and because the hole in his chest starts up its stubborn grumbling again, he pushes back.

“You had your chance to talk!” Lucas fights. “Eighteen months full of chances to talk, Eliott! And what did you do? Nothing!”

They’re screaming at each other in the middle of some kid’s lawn on the outskirts of the city, barely 20 minutes after meeting again. Gone are the Lucas and Eliott from two years ago (Lucas isn’t too fond of their replacements, and he’s pretty sure Eliott feels the same, but it’s too late to change them).

Lucas wants to be sixteen again, when he loved Eliott from a safe distance. Stealing glances was easy once he nailed down the technique: Eliott likes to focus all his attention on the people he speaks with (and he’s always so beautiful then, when his eyes shine a bit and he smiles at his friends’ happiness), leaving Lucas free to stare and stare and stare whenever one of the guys pulled Eliott into a conversation. He thinks he memorized every inch of Eliott’s face that year.

The quiet nights alone in his room were the hardest, with nothing but a head full of fantasies to keep him company, and he would have to push them down with loud music and screaming thoughts. They always showed up in Lucas’ dreams, though, there to wreak havoc and send him into a lovesick tailspin. He still gets them sometimes, flashes of a life that could have been. And that’s how Lucas knows.

He still loves Eliott, and he’s still at a distance, but now, there’s a minefield separating them. Lucas sees the path to their destruction.

A fire starts in the pit of his stomach, every butterfly he’s ever felt gone up in flames. He starts shouting. “You did nothing because you _felt_ nothing!”

“You don’t get to decide how I feel, Lucas! Only I can do that.”

“Yeah, well,” Lucas starts, a last-ditch effort to get Eliott to actually _talk._ “You could’ve let me in on the secret at some point.”

The other boy shakes his head, reaching up to drag his fingernails across his lip. It’s rough, too rough, and Lucas worries for a moment that Eliott will rip the skin. “It’s not that simple,” he finally says, words laced with defeat, and Lucas is done running in circles.

“It was pretty simple for me.”

Another tug on his lip. “That’s…that’s _different_, Lucas, there’s —”

“There’s stuff I don’t know, right.” Lucas nods, takes a step back. Arms crossed, he looks at Eliott once more, clenched jaw and casual tone daring the other to tell the truth. “Well, I’m all ears now, Eliott. Why was it different?” He pauses, his next words, his next _terror_ clawing at the back of his throat. “Was it because you didn’t love me?”

“_What?”_ Eliott’s eyelashes flare, pupils blown wide. “Of course, I did, Lucas, why would you —"

“Because it doesn’t feel like it. Not anymore.”

Eliott’s face crumples, furrowed brow and teary eyes crushed by Lucas’ words. He coughs, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans, and takes a step back. “What does it feel like, then?” Eliott asks, and his fear is audible.

Lucas looks at Eliott across the minefield, sees the traps and tripwires separating them, and, in his mind, Lucas takes a step forward. This might blow them up, but something has been gnawing at Lucas for the past year and a half and he thinks the explosion might be worth it if he gets his answer.

In the silence, Eliott sniffles. He’s staring at Lucas like he’s a wild animal ready to attack. _Good,_ Lucas thinks. _Eliott should be scared._

“Like pity,” Lucas finally answers, and it trembles. “Like you looked at me and thought _why not?_ Not much to lose when you only have a week left in Paris.”

“Lucas, that’s not —"

“And then,” Lucas croaks, ignoring Eliott’s objections. “And then you left and thought you could keep up the act while we were apart, string me along and keep me halfway happy.” He hesitates, screwing his eyes shut as if it would help keep the tears at bay. (They still fall.)

“Until, of course, someone better came along.” Lucas’ eyes flutter open, reconnecting his watery gaze with Eliott’s. “Someone better came along, didn’t they?”

And Eliott — Eliott looks absolutely _broken._ He’s a good five paces away but Lucas can see the tears flowing unbidden down the boy’s cheeks, his lip quivering and chest heaving with sobs. Shoulders hunched over, he grips at the hem of his shirt, curling the fabric into his fists and pulling it taut.

A terrible, vengeful part of Lucas is satisfied seeing Eliott in the same pain that has wrecked Lucas’ entire being for the past year and a half. The rest of him, though, is crumbling to dust at the sight of the boy he loves in such turmoil.

Turmoil he caused. _Is causing._

Lucas and Eliott implode.

“Who was it, Eliott?” Lucas takes a slow step forward, chin high as he stares Eliott down. He hopes Eliott can’t see his shaking fingers. “The cute girl from down the street? The boy in art class?”

He comes to a stop, standing tall as Eliott falls apart in front of him.

“Did you give them an animal? Were they a hedgehog, too?”

Eliott lets out something between a sob and a moan, and Lucas thinks he hears a rough _no_ underneath it all.

“Do you —” Eliott starts, cut off by a hiccup rattling its way through his chest. But he presses on, his entire body jerking as he fights back a sob in an effort to speak. “Do you really think I’d do that to you?”

“I don’t fucking know anymore!” Lucas spits, and the words come with a fresh flow of tears. “You’ve shut me out with no explanation – what else am I supposed to think?”

“Lucas, I swear to you —"

Lucas breaks. “Why wasn’t I good enough for you, Eliott?”

Eliott springs off the ground and lunges forward.

Two steps and his hands are sliding up Lucas’ cheeks. Two steps and Lucas is in his arms again, like he never left, like it hasn’t been years since the last time Lucas felt the flare of Eliott’s skin against his so completely, so totally. It consumes him. 

Lucas gasps as the tension bleeds out of his neck and his lips part instinctively, hands hovering somewhere around Eliott’s waist. (Not touching, though. Not yet.)

Lucas tilts his head up and connects their gazes, iron words dying in his throat as he sees hurt reflected in Eliott’s thundercloud eyes. They flash with lightning, and Eliott speaks.

“Lucas, listen to me. You are _more_ than good enough. Too good. I never deserved you, not for a second.”

Fuck, he can’t do this. He can’t let Eliott undo the last two years with a few pretty words. He starts to pull back, a weak protest curling around his ribs, but something tells him not to move.

“I hate myself for shutting you out and hurting you like that,” Eliott continues, and when Lucas tenses up at his words, the boy only presses closer. (If Lucas looked down, he’d see their feet lined up perfectly. If Lucas looked down, he’d want Eliott to paint this picture, too.) “I…It wasn’t on purpose. It wasn’t my choice.”

And that’s…not what Lucas expected to hear. Not in the slightest. Mind spinning, it piques his curiosity and Lucas’ hands fall to Eliott’s waist. He feels the boy’s gasp underneath his fingertips, stuttering his words.

“Th-The longer it went on, the scarier it became to reach out to you, and I just — I just needed to _see you,_ you know? Tell you all of this in-person.” And Lucas nods because he knows, because he feels it, too. (It wasn’t just humiliation that scared him into silence for a year and a half.) “I’ve dreamed about seeing you again for _so long_ and I…”

Eliott leans in closer as he trails off, brushing his nose against Lucas’. It’s eerily similar to before, in Eliott’s room, but this time it’s Eliott with his heart laid bare.

“Fuck, Lucas, I don’t know how to love someone who isn’t you.”

A thumb brushes across Lucas’ bottom lip and his eyes flutter shut. And he’s dropping his chin and his forehead is pressed against Eliott’s and their lips are close, _so close,_ and Lucas can feel Eliott’s breath ghost along his cheek.

He could do it. He could lean forward and kiss Eliott, connect their lips just like he’s imagined for the past two years. It would be so easy to fall into the desire pulling at his chest, let it break through the walls he’s so carefully constructed and guide him back to Eliott.

But what happens when he gives all of himself away and Eliott throws him to the curb in a few months’ time? Lucas doesn’t think he could survive it the second time around.

“Wait,” Lucas gasps, wrenching himself away from Eliott with a rough shove to the boy’s shoulders. The minefield rebuilds itself between them. “I can’t do this,” he says with his hands held out in front of him, forcing distance where he wants none. Eliott is panting and so is Lucas, and Lucas drags a rough palm over his mouth, chasing the ghostly pressure of Eliott’s lips on his. _Eighteen months._

“Can’t do what?”

“This. You_.”_ He throws his arms in the air, waving them around the empty lawn in defeat. “_Us_, Eliott.”

Eliott’s head snaps up, a new glint in his eye. “There’s still an us?” he tries, and his hope hurts.

Lucas’ lips part and he almost says yes. Almost.

“No,” Lucas mutters, forcing the single syllable past the lump in his throat. “No, there’s not, Eliott. I don’t…I can’t —” He runs a hand through his hair, tugging as he goes. “You’ve been gone for _so long_. You left me in silence and I _waited_ for you.” Lucas falters, gulping as the tears push their way through the corners of his eyes. “You left and I waited but I got nothing. I _was_ nothing.”

“Lucas,” Eliott croaks. His voice shatters and Lucas has to turn away. He never wants to hear Eliott say his name like that again. “You’re not nothing_._ Just let me explain, okay? You are…you’re _everything_, love, please just —”

“Don’t call me that,” Lucas snarls, whipping around to stalk forward until he’s back in Eliott’s space, nearly chest-to-chest once more. “I’m not your _love_, not anymore. Don’t you fucking dare try that with me, Eliott.”

“Lucas, please just let me —"

“I waited for you.” Lucas chokes on the sounds, dropping a weak fist against Eliott’s heart. “I waited hours for you to call. I waited days for you to reply to my texts. I’m _still_ waiting for the letters you said you’d send me.” His other hand joins its match on Eliott’s chest. Eliott curls his fingers around Lucas’ wrists, not holding, just touching, his grip loose on the thin skin. “I thought that if you loved me, you’d come back, you know? You’d answer and you’d apologize and you’d explain.”

Eliott sighs and rubs a thumb along the side of Lucas’ wrist. “Lucas, that’s what I’m trying to do.”

Lucas is dangerously close to wrapping himself around Eliott and never letting go. 

“You can’t.” He laughs, grim. He pulls away and Eliott lets him. Somehow that hurts more than anything else tonight. “You’re about a year and a half too late, Eliott. I-I’m sorry.”

Eliott nods, cloudy eyes downcast. It’s like he deflates right in front of Lucas, all his fight gone in an instant as he curls into himself. The defeat rolls off him in waves and Lucas is overwhelmed with the urge to take it all back, grab Eliott’s hand and run away from this mess they’ve created and start all over again.

He’s so tired.

_Nothing_ in the past two years has told Lucas he’s someone Eliott wants in his life long-term. He grew used to it, resigned himself to the painful truth that this time, just like always, his love wasn’t valuable enough to keep around.

But Lucas’ heart has broken a dozen times tonight, a new crack splitting his veins whenever Eliott proves him wrong. _I don’t know how to love someone who isn’t you._

“I think I’m gonna go home now,” Lucas says, and receives another sad nod from Eliott. He starts to leave, slow steps dragging him backwards across the lawn, when Eliott calls his name once more.

“L-Lucas?” Eliott stammers, lip trembling in hope. “Before you go, can I just say one thing?”

_Shit_. It could be anything, anything at all, but Lucas already knows it will break him. He nods anyway.

There’s a pause, a moment where Eliott steels himself, for what Lucas doesn’t know, and ice runs through the valley between them.

“I love you, Lucas,” Eliott breathes, and although it’s low, it’s sure. “I never stopped loving you, not for a second.” Eliott wrings his hands out, nails scratching at his knuckles as he stares at Lucas with an unwavering gaze. “I just needed to make sure you knew that.”

Lucas hesitates, all air stripped from his lungs.

_(I love you. I know.)_

He steps on the final landmine.

“I don’t believe you,” he declares, his voice firm and steady even as every letter carves a chunk out of Lucas’ heart.

Eliott’s face immediately falls, brow furrowed. “What?”

Lucas takes a reluctant step back. “Just go inside, okay?”

“No, what do you mean you —”

“I’m going home,” Lucas whispers, turning around to walk away as Eliott calls his name once more. 

He keeps moving.

“Lucas!”

Lucas stops as Eliott’s voice breaks, crumbling on the last syllable as it echoes across the lawn. He’s never heard Eliott sound like that before. So hollow. So flimsy. Like the right push would turn him to dust.

He turns back around with his eyes shut, drawing shuddering air into his lungs. Slowly, he lifts his head to look at Eliott, to see his heaving chest, to see his trembling arms wrapped around himself so tightly it must hurt.

Lucas averts his gaze.

He gulps down a sob, a vain effort to regain control. Carefully, he shakes his head, unable to even glance in Eliott’s direction.

“Welcome home,” he winces. The words are barely out of his mouth before he’s stumbling over to the street, finally the one to not be left behind.

The thud of knees falling to the ground follows Lucas to the edge of the lawn.

He runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me just take a moment to reiterate the "angst with a happy ending tag" 
> 
> if you wanna yell at me, i'm on tumblr at [tawmlinsun](https://tawmlinsun.tumblr.com), or you can yell at me in the comments below!! (you can also leave a kudos!!!)
> 
> ficpost can be found [here!!](https://tawmlinsun.tumblr.com/post/189555377479/gold-to-you-its-going-to-kill-me-to-leave)
> 
> 💖THANK YOU FOR READING💖


	3. still, tangled and broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii welcome back!!! ♥♥♥
> 
> so this chapter gave me A Lot Of Trouble. i bit off a lil more than i could chew with this one and got v overwhelmed with the writing process, so i ended up splitting my original chapter 3 into two chapters (looks like y'all are getting 6 chapters + epilogue now oops). tbh it did wonders for my motivation with this fic, and i'm really excited for what's coming. 
> 
> of course, thank you to my beta angels, [amanda](https://pinky-promisekisses.tumblr.com), [joanna](https://oheliotts.tumblr.com), [tess](https://feathered-minds.tumblr.com), and [zheen](https://tpanda073.tumblr.com) for helping me out with this one and still being so willing and generous with your feedback after such a long break between chapters. i'm seriously so thankful for y'all and you've really helped transform this chapter ♥
> 
> as per usual, fic playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Z104M3YK88waQQ6xCrSXE?si=uS5BmldvTyu628JDQmPIHQ) if you wanna give it a listen while reading (a highly recommended choice) 
> 
> chapter title from ["knot - demo" by toledo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wI_dQ1JYO0)
> 
> get ready for some Emotions. hope you enjoy ♥

He’s crying before he’s even turned the corner.

The world blurs past Lucas’ eyes, scuffing shoes down the street filling the blanks in his vision and guiding him back to the metro. His head hurts and his brain has been scorched with the image of Eliott crying in front of him, utterly destroyed by Lucas’ words.

Fuck, he wants to turn around. He wants to go back to that party, to that _lawn_, so damn badly, but by now Eliott has probably gone back inside. Maybe Idriss is with him, or Sofiane, and maybe he has something stronger than beer slipping down his throat while Lucas is left with tears dripping down his chin.

Lucas wants to hate him. He wishes he could, really. (Maybe it would make running away right now a little easier.) It should be common sense for Lucas to hate Eliott but he doesn’t, he can’t, and the fire in his bones burns with desire and not despise.

And though he may not be filled with hate, he _is_ filled with anger. Because _fuck Eliott_ for bringing all these feelings back and _fuck Eliott_ for giving Lucas that tiniest sliver of hope again and _fuck Eliott_ for filling Lucas with a calm he hadn’t known since the day he walked out of that airport.

Just — fuck Eliott. They said what needed to be said, right? They’re done with each other. Maybe now Lucas can finally move on and find someone new.

He doesn’t have to say it out loud for it to taste like a lie.

Lucas stumbles his way down the metro stairs, feet stomping out a rhythm of _there’s still an us, there’s still an us, there’s still an us,_ and it echoes around the empty station. The wait for the next train is long at this hour, and Lucas keeps stealing tear-stained glances at the platform entrance, quick and sharp. One minute before the next train is set to arrive, he hears footsteps banging down the stairs, and it’s not even Eliott’s typical beat, the steady _tha-thump tha-thump_ that Lucas knows so well, but his heart stops anyway. It doesn’t start again until a girl in a leather jacket dashes onto the platform as the train is pulling into the station.

He hops onto the metro, the car blissfully empty and available for him to slump down in his seat and wipe his pathetic tears until he gets to his stop. He keeps his phone in his pocket, keeps his music off; he doesn’t want to risk any of Eliott’s favorite songs popping up on shuffle (he should’ve deleted them ages ago).

It’s a long walk from the station to his building. It’s a longer walk up the stairs to his apartment.

There’s noise coming from the neighboring unit, probably Manon and the girls having one last night together before the school year starts, but when Lucas unlocks his front door, all is silent. It’s nice. It’s necessary.

He trudges over to his bedroom, barely taking the time to peel off his t-shirt and jeans and plug in his phone before he’s collapsing face-first onto the bed, letting out a slight _oof_ when he hits the pillows. He waits for the tension to bleed out of him, for his shoulders to sag and his knees to unlock, but the knots in his neck stay clenched, wound tight with the pressure of a star dying to explode.

Lucas shifts onto his side and his eyes catch on the picture frame on his bedside table. It holds a photo of them, of _all_ of them, at the Bakhellal’s Eid party a few years ago, Eliott’s first with the group. It was the day he had met Idriss and Sofiane and the trio had hit it off well — so well, in fact, that Eliott had promptly ditched Lucas and the guys once the conversation got going. And Lucas, in all his thirteen-nearly-fourteen-year-old glory, had steamed and stewed on the outskirts of the group for the whole afternoon, barely participating in the party chatter as he kept one eye on where Eliott was sitting, huddled close to Idriss with Sofiane at his side.

(When he thinks about it, really, that might have been the day Lucas realized he liked Eliott as more than a friend. The angry green tinge to his eyes when he looked in the bathroom mirror later that night was clear enough.)

But Eliott had found Lucas for the group photo at sunset, had thrown an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, muttering something about a dish he wanted Lucas to try when they got back inside. Lucas had lit up at that because Eliott was back, his best friend was _back,_ he didn’t lose him to someone infinitely cooler and more handsome and more magnetic than Lucas could ever be.

And every time Lucas has looked at the photo since, he’s seen that same boy with that same bright smile, but now he notices how he’s pressed a little too tightly to Eliott’s chest, and how Eliott’s head is tilted slightly downwards, like he’s trying to rest it on top of Lucas’. Something inside him flares with fury at the sight.

Carefully, Lucas reaches out and flips the photo facedown.

* * *

The next morning, Lucas wakes up from a restless, dreamless sleep and the first thing he thinks of is Eliott. (It’s no different from any other morning, really, but there’s a new weight crushing down on Lucas’ chest and it’s a little harder to breathe out something that isn’t the other boy’s name.) He feels last night’s tears start to reappear, prickling at the corners of his eyes and threatening him with that ugly kind of cry, the one with a heaving chest and snotty cheeks and a slowly building headache.

Eliott’s words from last night jumble around in his head, sharp edges catching on memories Lucas has never allowed to decay. It hurts to think about, really, but he can’t stop their swirl and he’s powerless to the whims of nostalgia painted red.

He almost kissed Eliott last night. Fuck,_ he almost kissed Eliott last night._ And it was so similar, too similar, to their first, that Lucas can’t help but draw the parallels, see the mirroring images of him holding onto Eliott to keep him from leaving and Eliott clinging onto Lucas to stop him from doing the same.

Lucas throws an arm over his face with a smack, letting his fist thump on the mattress as he lets out a pained sigh. God, it’s always been Eliott, hasn’t it? It’s always been Eliott.

Feels like it always _will be_ Eliott, actually, but it can’t. Because last night, Lucas let go of his only chance to ever be with Eliott again, and he did it with willing hands but a reluctant heart, and now a fire consumes them both. His veins are burning, thrumming underneath the skin and longing to feel the heat of Eliott’s palms running against his once more. And the flames travel along his bones, heating up joints that would lock perfectly around Eliott’s frame (his knuckles sting where they should be slotted in between Eliott’s fingers) and encapsulating his heart in a flaming ribcage.

The smoke is going to suffocate him from the inside out.

Boiling tears edge their way out of his eyes and Lucas presses his forearm tighter against his cheeks to block the now-steady stream, but it’s useless. Each tear sizzles the skin until it’s raw, and Lucas feels exposed as his chest constricts with sobs and whimpers escape his chapped lips.

(And he loves Eliott, he loves Eliott, _he loves Eliott.)_

It’s been five years and the hurt has been endless, but Eliott’s hold on Lucas’ heart has never wavered.

Maybe this is a good thing, though. Maybe he should’ve left. Because, really, Eliott had no right ambushing Lucas like that. A year and a half of nothing, only to pick back up with _I missed you_ and _I’m so sorry_ and, worst and most earth-shattering of all, _I love you._

It doesn’t feel fair that Eliott has been keeping all of this, these words and these emotions and these so-called truths, from Lucas when Lucas has been nothing but open and honest from the start. Eliott got to go on thinking he felt all these unbelievable things while Lucas was left with nothing to hold onto but a couple of drawings and heartbreak printed with a passport stamp.

No, it’s not fair.

And as much as Lucas wishes he could believe that what Eliott said last night was true, he just…can’t. He can’t. What kind of love goes silent for a year and a half? What kind of love pushes its match away with no guidance on what has gone wrong? What kind of love takes and takes and takes and never offers anything in return until it’s convenient again, until the knight in shining armor comes riding in on his white horse, ready to reclaim what he believes is his without doing any work to earn the honor?

_(I love you. I know.)_

Fuck Eliott.

Lucas tries saying it aloud, chances a whisper of _fuck you, Eliott_ into the still morning. His lungs run out of air halfway through, and he doesn’t quite make it through Eliott’s name, so he tries again.

“Fuck you, El—” A hiccup cuts him off. He sits up, curling his sheets into his fists as he stares unseeing at his dresser. 

“Fuck y—” His voice shudders with sobs, and angry tears drip down the corners of his mouth. He smacks at his cheeks, scraping the wetness away with such force that it stings.

A deep breath in to prepare his heart, and he tries again. “Fu—"

It’s no use. Lucas collapses in on himself, every syllable lodging itself in his throat and forcing its way up in violent coughs. He pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his shaking arms around his shins and resting his forehead on the wobbling table he makes.

_“Eliott,”_ Lucas chokes out, and he winces with the longing that permeates the word. Never has a name been so agonizing.

This distance, this pain, was fine when Eliott was a far-off possibility, something he could long for safely, content with the knowledge that even his mildest dreams may never be reality. There was a certain comfort to it: the only one who could break Lucas’ heart further was himself. (And he did, he certainly did. Daydreams of him welcoming Eliott home in the airport, the both of them back in that goddamn international terminal with that goddamn frosted door, have been a mainstay in Lucas’ mind since the moment the boy left. Sometimes it’s him running to Eliott and sometimes it’s Eliott running to him, but they always always always say _I love you_ in the middle.)

But now? With Eliott back in Paris _for good?_ It’s too real. And Lucas had to ruin it the first chance he got.

(He ruined it, he ruined it, he ruins _everything_. Maybe hating himself can replace hating Eliott.)

His phone buzzes and it cuts through the room, a dull knife forcing its way through thoughts dense with memories. Hazy, Lucas grapples along his bedside table before locating the device and pulling it to him. He spares a glance at the caller ID before bracing himself and accepting the call.

“Man, you’re alive!” Yann shouts through the phone, far too loud and far too eager for the morning after a party, and it sets off a stab of pain across Lucas’ skull. “We thought we lost you!”

Lucas lets out a small groan as he settles himself back down against the pillows. “Sorry about that, Yann,” he croaks, praying that Yann can’t hear how wrecked his voice is, throat raw with sobs. He tries closing his eyes to alleviate something somewhere but all he sees is Eliott. Lucas keeps his eyes open.

“No worries, Lu; just text me next time you dash, okay?” Lucas grunts in what he hopes Yann will accept as agreement and lets the boy talk, hoping for some sort of distraction, but it just fades to background noise. Yann’s voice becomes the involuntary soundtrack to Lucas’ misery: his groaning about Basile’s disastrous attempts to woo Daphné prop up memories of Lucas stepping away from Eliott again and again last night, only to be roped back in by Eliott’s magnetic pull. Complaints about cheap beer and bad weed fade into the crackle of drying grass underneath Lucas’ feet and the chirping of crickets in late summer. Somehow, Yann’s excited, “But Arthur!” is drowned out by the roar of planes taking off and the clang of a fist against iron gates, a two-year-old cacophony Lucas can’t forget, no matter how long it’s been since the blood has dried.

He squeezes his eyes shut against it all and tries to tune back into the one-sided conversation, breathing deep despite the tears still pouring down his cheeks.

“But where’d you run off to last night, bro? Take all the good beers and run?” Yann laughs and it crackles the speaker, sending a burst of sharp fuzz through Lucas’ brain. It hurts a bit, but he welcomes it, the tiniest distraction from the constant swirling of his mind. He _wishes_ he had just taken the beers and run last night. “I wouldn’t blame you, dude, the stuff they had last night was _shit_ and—”

Yann keeps talking and Lucas keeps thinking and it’s on loop in his mind, a play-by-play of the final breakdown of him and Eliott, him and Eliott, _him and Eliott_, and Yann’s voice has faded to static but Eliott’s is loud and clear, screaming _be here!_ and _let me explain!_ and _I love you, I love you, I love you!_ and Lucas can’t hear anything but him, can’t think of anything but him, and _fuck_, it hurts but maybe Lucas deserves it, deserves this, and it makes his mind burst his veins burst his heart burst and he can feel his breath speeding up, feel the working of his chest, and it all hurts, it all hurts, it all —

“He’s back,” Lucas blurts out, and immediately slaps his palm against his lips. _Fuck._ Lucas has gone and ruined it again, hasn’t he? Now someone else knows. And Yann will ask questions and Lucas will answer and then last night won’t belong to him anymore. It won’t belong to _them_ anymore. (Maybe if it could stay between him and Eliott it would be easier to undo one day. Because if last night stays between them, then they can make it whatever they want it to be, rewrite the universe to build their own story in the end. But if they give it away, nothing about it will ever change.)

There’s a pause on the other side of the line, steady breathing bearing down on the speaker. “Who’s back?” Yann asks after another inhale, and Lucas wonders when his best friend decided to become so cruel.

He can’t say it. He can’t give last night any more truth. “Who do you think?” Lucas manages to spit out, chest caving on the final syllables, because if he says _his_ name out loud, Lucas thinks he might just break for good.

_“Fuck,”_ Yann groans. “He was at the party?”

Lucas gulps and it sticks a lump in his throat, rough and dry and unmoving. “Yeah.”

“I-I didn’t even see him, man, I would have gotten us out of there if I did, _I_ _swear to you_, I —”

“I know, Yann,” Lucas cuts in, because he won’t have Yann feeling bad about this. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not _fine_, Lucas.” Another pause, and through the rapid beat of his heart Lucas can hear Yann thinking it all over. “So you left as soon as you saw him?”

_If only._ “Well, no, um…I tried to leave when he said —"

“Wait, he talked to you?” Yann interrupts, surprise coloring his words, as if the notion that Lucas and Eliott talked, just _talked_, after all these months was enough to rattle him to the core.

And Lucas wishes it were that easy. Lucas wishes that was all that had happened. He sniffs, letting out a watery breath. “W-We fought, actually. Or argued, I guess.”

(And he hates that this and all that followed are truths of this universe now. Lucas and Eliott don’t fight, they never have. He never wanted that to change.)

“You _fought_?”

“It was awful, Yann,” Lucas moans, a new wave of tears pushing their way to the surface. They blur life at the edges, the mess of his bedroom floor fuzzing and fading along his periphery. “Worst fucking thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“Well, why did you —”

“He said he _missed me,”_ Lucas explains, nearly scoffing at the remains of Eliott’s audacity, and through his sadness he’s still seething.

There’s a pause on the other side of the line, a break in the whirl of surprise that Yann had stumbled into unwittingly. “…Isn’t that a bit of a good thing, though?” he asks, slow and soft.

_What?_ “No, Yann! No, it’s not!” Lucas rushes, shooting forward to sit up and off his pillows. “He doesn’t get to just waltz back in here like nothing’s changed and say shit like that. It’s not fair.”

He needs Yann to be on his side here, to tell him that he’s right for leaving, for being angry. If Yann’s not on his side, then the part of Lucas that wants to run back to Eliott will grow. And it will take over and Lucas will cave and he’ll find Eliott so he can apologize, try to take last night back, but Eliott will shut him down and reject him for good because Lucas ruined it, Lucas _always_ ruins it, and Eliott will become another person that leaves because Lucas loved them too hard.

If Lucas stays angry and stays away then Eliott won’t have a chance to leave him again.

Trying to steady his breath, Lucas gulps down the fear itching in his chest. “It’s not fucking fair,” he repeats, pulling his sheets tighter around his waist.

“No, it’s not,” Yann soothes, and something eases itself in the pit of Lucas’ stomach. _It’s not fair._ “Did he, um,” Yann starts, careful but sure, “did he say anything else?”

And there’s a lot Lucas could say, because _did he ever,_ but instead he goes with a simple _yeah_, because he really doesn’t have the emotional capacity to unpack last night over the phone.

“Like what?” Yann pushes.

“I don’t know; just stuff,” he fumbles, hoping his friend will drop it.

No such luck.

“Okay, like what?”

Damn Yann and his damn commitment to getting Lucas to talk and stop bottling up his emotions. Lucas kicks himself for his old high school habits. 

“Yann…” he tries, one last plead that flows out along the crack in his heart.

But Yann is having none of it. “Like _what_, Lucas?” he asks again, and it’s hard, demanding, and Lucas’ already-broken heart shatters under the pressure.

“That he loved me, okay?!” Lucas shouts into the phone. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” He huffs, settling back against his pillows as Yann stutters on the other end of the phone. “He fucking said he loved me.”

A sigh crackles through his speaker and carefully, quietly, Yann asks, “And what did you say?”

Lucas answers with a sigh of his own, and though Yann can’t see him, he hangs his head in a sort of twisted shame, one that crawls up his throat from deep in his stomach. A tear drips onto the sheets collected in his lap. “That I didn’t believe him.”

The objection is immediate. “Lucas!”

“What? I don’t!” He protests, voice firm despite the sniffle itching at his nose. “Why should I? Have you forgotten the past year and a half?”

“No, bro, but—”

“He hasn’t given me a single reason to believe him! At all! For the past _two years_,” he insists, sheets tangling in his fist once more.

“Did he give you a reason last night?”

Lucas’ next objection dies in his throat at Yann’s words, and he chokes on the bad taste it leaves. “What?” he croaks.

“I said,” Yann starts, “did he give you a reason to believe him last night when you fought? He didn’t just walk right up to you and confess his love, right? Although…” he trails off, contemplative as Lucas’ breath stills. “That would be a very Eliott thing to do, I guess.” (It would be, actually. It would be very like Eliott, heart on his sleeve and ready for the breaking, but Lucas doesn’t quite know Eliott anymore, does he?)

“I-I don’t know,” Lucas stammers out, and his face flushes. (_Yes,_ the answer is yes.) “It was…there was a lot of yelling, and I was _so angry, _and so was he, and —”

“Lucas,” Yann interjects, putting a stop to his inevitable rambling. “You said he told you he missed you and then told you he loved you, right?” Lucas hums in affirmation. “What did he say in the middle?”

“Not much,” Lucas answers. _Because I wouldn’t let him_, he thinks.

Yann huffs. “That doesn’t really sound like Eliott.”

There’s an out there, one that Lucas is welcome to take, if he wants, because Yann knows his heart sometimes can’t handle such honesty. Lucas walks the coward’s path.

“Just some stuff about him leaving, not being able to explain,” he says lowly. “Not much, really.”

And Yann huffs again, but Lucas can’t quite tell if he’s disappointed or amused. His stomach turns anyway. “You’re definitely leaving out a lot of the middle part.”

_He is._ “It doesn’t matter.” He’s not telling Yann about that almost-kiss. Because that’s _theirs_, that’s Lucas’ and that’s Eliott’s and that’s LucasAndEliott’s.

“I think it does, bro,” Yann chides, tone teasing but still firm, and Lucas feels his disappointment. It stings. And Lucas may be a coward, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have fight.

“It _doesn’t_, okay?” he retorts, swooping from despair into irritation in a second. “And even if it did, it wouldn’t change anything. He still disappeared on me and I just — I can’t forget that. I can’t.”

“I know,” Yann answers. “That doesn’t mean you can’t forgive, though.”

(Lucas doesn’t quite think he can, is the thing. Because how can he forgive when his eyes still burn from checking his phone in the darkest hours of the morning, desperate for a sign that Eliott was out there, still wanting him, still holding a place in his heart for him?)

“Yann —”

“No, Lucas, I know you. And I know you think the two are mutually exclusive but they’re not, okay? They’re not.” Yann pauses, giving the words time to settle into Lucas’ skin. He doesn’t know if they’ll stick. “Yeah, Eliott fucked up, fucked up _big time,_ but I think he knows that. And I think that whatever happened between you two last night was his first step in trying to make up for it. You don’t have to forgive him right away; hell, you don’t have to forgive him _at all_ if that’s what you want to do. But even if you do decide to forgive him, that doesn’t mean you also have to forget about how he hurt you. What happened happened and it’s not going away, but if anyone on this earth could get through this and come out stronger, it’s you two.”

He takes a heaving breath when he’s done, static over the speaker, and Lucas feels it fuzz in his mind. He knows Yann means well, he does. But hurt has woven itself through Lucas’ veins and it’s tied so tight that he fears forgiveness might unravel him entirely.

“Yann, please,” he whispers. _Don’t give me hope._

“I’m serious, Lucas. You still love him?”

(He sees the coward’s path in front of him once more, but this time, he’s too worn-out to lie.)

Lucas inhales and lets the truth wrap itself around his tongue. “Of course, I do.” He can practically hear Yann’s smile.

“Then you’ll figure it out somehow.”

If only they could. Lucas thinks the blame may be more on him than on Eliott.

He hums in response, happy to leave it for the morning as he picks at a loose thread in his comforter. He tugs at it as they let the conversation fall off, splitting the seams and exposing the messy insides, all scratchy filler and frayed hems and crooked stitches. Lucas closes his eyes when he’s had enough of the destruction, rubbing at his temples as if it would ease the tension of memories scraping at his skull in the silence.

But, of course, Yann is the first to break it.

It comes with a light cough, clearing his throat of the apprehension that leaks its last traces into his voice. “Are you gonna see him again?” he asks, words careful, but it shatters Lucas all the same. (He doesn’t want Yann to treat him like he’s broken glass, but he’s been a touch away from cracking for the past two years. He supposes it’s justified.)

And Lucas’ daydreams of meeting Eliott again have been torn to tatters, but, as he stares at the closed dresser drawer where the last drawing Eliott ever gave him sits, he lets the fantasy rearrange itself. It’s not soft, it’s angry, and there are more shouts and more tears, but Lucas wants it anyway. Because it’s Eliott. (_Please, please, please.)_

He gulps down the desperate wish clawing at his tongue. “Not if I can help it,” he declares, and if he chokes on his own air the second he gets the words out, then it’s no one’s business but his own.

Thankfully, Yann’s frustrated sigh covers up his hurt. “Lucas—”

“I just need time with this, Yann, okay?” Lucas rushes. “I’m sure I’ll see him eventually, but I just…I just need some time with this. Work on really moving on, you know?”

“If you’re sure,” Yann answers, and he says it like he knows it’s a lie, like he knows Lucas is no closer to moving on than he was eighteen months ago. Lucas lets the falsehood settle over them anyway. 

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” There’s a pause, and a little burst of static comes through the speaker, rough as Yann shuffles around. “See you Monday, though? Baz wants to meet out in the courtyard before his first class.”

“Of course, he does,” Lucas mutters. Yann laughs, and it’s the first time Lucas smiles this morning. (It’s small and it pulls at the drying tears on his cheeks, cracks of pain shooting through his skin.) “What time?”

“9.”

Fucking Basile. “If Imane and I didn’t have class at 9:30 my answer would be no.”

“Dude, my first class isn’t until _11_ and I’m still going,” Yann groans. “I’ll drag your ass there if I have to.”

He scoffs. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I have before and I will again, Lallemant. Don’t test me.” They both laugh this time, and it eases the lock on the cage constraining his heart.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lucas allows, last laughs bubbling in his chest. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“See you Monday. And Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll figure this out,” Yann says. “The both of you.”

And it’s so firm, so decided, so certain, that, for a split-second Lucas can’t imagine anything else being true. The hope seizes at his throat, wrapping around his neck in a vice grip and hitching his breath in his lungs. There’s a flash of a future in his mind, one where he’s holding Eliott’s hand like before, and Eliott’s eyes shine as he squeezes their palms together. But then Lucas remembers last night, what he _said_ last night, and Eliott’s eyes fall flat as he steps away.

“Thanks, Yann,” Lucas whispers, too afraid to speak louder lest he do something awful like cry again. (The Eliott in his mind dissolves to dust.)

“Of course. Bye, bro.”

Lucas mutters his own goodbye and hangs up the phone, softly locking it and dropping it face down on his sheets.

He told Yann and it hurt, but he also told Yann and it felt good. Maybe. A little bit.

It’s just that the hope that Yann has, the absolute unwavering faith he has in Lucas and Eliott, is the most painful part of it. The kind of hurt that sends a shiver down his spine despite the humid August air seeping in through the gaps in his windows.

All Lucas sees for him and Eliott is an ending engulfed in flames but Yann sees them flying above the clouds. And Yann knows him better than anyone else (he took the title from Eliott months ago), so Lucas is always inclined to believe him, but Yann didn’t see the icy blue flames sparking behind Eliott’s eyes last night. He didn’t hear the desperation in his voice, his rough gulps before speaking, the resounding thump of what was surely his heart falling to the ground as Lucas ran.

Because Lucas has hurt Eliott beyond belief and it would take more than a miracle for forgiveness to ever be flung his way. _(I don’t believe you.)_

He shuffles down under the covers once more, pulling the thin sheets tight to his chest as he closes his eyes. He fades in and out of sleep in bursts, each moment as torturous as the next; his brain, whether encased in dreams or awake to reality, can’t seem to drag itself away from the moment Eliott cradled Lucas’ chin in his hands.

And so, he tosses and he turns. He positions his pillow every which way until it’s lost all its fluff and he has to reach for the spare beneath his bed. His sheets pool at his waist, then get tugged to his chin, and he tries one leg out and one leg in but nothing works.

Eventually, he gives up and surrenders himself to the morning light. Lucas doesn’t know what time it is but the sun is coming in through the blinds a little stronger than before and he can hear his neighbor padding around upstairs.

The smell of coffee wafts over through the crack in his door, and although it’s faint, it’s enough to get Lucas out of bed. _No more moping_, he chants as he slips on last night’s discarded tee. _You’ll be fine._

Slowly, he creeps out into the main area of their apartment to find Manon at the stove, fiddling with the dials and checking on whatever’s inside. The kettle seems close to boiling and she’s got her fancy coffee ready to go in her fancy coffee maker Lucas doesn’t even pretend to understand. And the inside of Lucas’ bedroom was cold, so cold, but out here, with Manon and her coffee and their weekly Sunday breakfast, it’s so, so warm.

“Didn’t even hear you come in,” Lucas announces as he shuffles closer, startling her a bit. “Figured you would’ve had breakfast with the girls.”

She rolls her eyes at him before leaning down to pull a tray of muffins out of the oven. “I did,” she scoffs, “at a normal breakfast time. This is lunch, Lucas.” He furrows his brow, leaning over the counter to look at the clock on the stove. 13h. So maybe it _is_ lunch.

“Fine, but I’m still making breakfast,” he declares, finally entering the kitchen properly so he can start on their food.

She answers him with a soft _of course_ and presses a kiss to his cheek in greeting on his way to the fridge. And it’s like this every Sunday, Manon with the coffee and homemade pastries and Lucas with the eggs, and whoever’s up first takes care of the bacon. Mika and Lisa will come stumbling out of their rooms — or through the front door — once everything’s been set up and the work has already been done, perfect timing never failing.

Lucas pulls out everything he needs for their favorite egg scramble and it feels good. It feels good to have this little bit of normalcy, regularity, familiarity, when everything else feels so foreign. It feels good.

They get into their normal rhythm, moving about the space with practiced ease, though they never truly shared the apartment in the first place. As soon as Manon had moved out, Lucas had moved in, and sometimes Lucas wonders what it would’ve been like to live with her for real. It’s easy with Manon, as easy as it is with Yann and as easy as it had been with Eliott, and Lucas thinks that in another universe, he and Manon make breakfast in their own apartment.

He’s just poured the eggs into a sizzling pan when the buzzer rings out through the apartment and, before Lucas can even ask, Manon shuffles over to answer it. “Expecting someone?” she teases, a slight curve to her brow as she walks back to the kitchen and pulls her second batch of boiling water off the stove.

He rolls his eyes. “Probably just Mika being lazy again,” he says, poking at the eggs as they start to cook. “Can you grab the door while I finish up here?”

She hums in confirmation, pouring out the coffee and sliding Lucas’ filled mug in next to him, milk and sugar swirling around the edges. He chances a sip, bringing the cup to his lips and blowing on the coffee to cool it before he takes a taste, and it’s delicious as always. He mutters a low _thanks_ to Manon before trying another sip, shooting a grateful smile her way as she goes to let Mika in where he’s knocking at the door.

“O-Oh, hi, Eliott.”

Lucas burns his tongue.

“Manon, hey,” Eliott responds, and it takes everything inside Lucas to keep himself from abandoning his breakfast and running to the front door. The eggs bubble and burn, and Lucas restarts his scramble as quietly as possible, entirely focused on Eliott and Manon.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Here as in the apartment, or here as in Paris?”

Manon hums in consideration. “Both.”

“Paris for university,” Eliott drawls, and Lucas can nearly feel how he rocks up on his toes with it. “And apartment for Lucas.”

A bit of egg goes flying over the edge of the pan. It sizzles as it hits the stovetop, and Lucas swipes it away with tingling fingers, letting the heat seep into the skin because he can’t let the rush of the sink alert Eliott to his presence. Carefully, he flicks one of the dials and the stove’s flame goes out, and Lucas slides his finished breakfast onto the waiting plate by his side.

“He gave you the address?” Manon asks, surprise evident in her voice.

“Uh, no,” Eliott stammers. “Idriss did.”

(Lucas is going to kill Idriss. Actually, no; he’ll let Imane do it.)

There’s a pause and the door creaks a bit; a part of him hopes it’s an inch closer to closing. Lucas can’t really see them from where he’s pressed up against the counter, but if he knows either Manon or Eliott at all (and he’s sure he does, despite distance and time), he knows Eliott is squirming under Manon’s careful gaze. She can be terrifying when she wants to be, that girl, and Lucas has never been more grateful to have that stare directed at anyone else.

“I know I probably shouldn’t have come here,” Eliott rushes when the silence stretches on for too long, “especially not right now, but _a lot_ has happened in the past two years and when I talked to Lucas last night…” Eliott gulps, and Lucas doesn’t have to be in front of him to know he’s tugging at the ends of his hair. “I fucked up, Manon. I fucked us up. He’s better off without me, honestly, but he said something before he left that I can’t get out of my head and —” Another pause, another creak of the door. Lucas can’t breathe.

“I need to make things right,” Eliott decides. “Or maybe not _right_, but better, because I can’t… he can’t…”

“Eliott —" Manon starts, pity coloring the short syllables.

“I love Lucas with everything I have,” Eliott cuts in, and Lucas’ heart jumps to his throat. The words feel a little fierce, forced out into the open like he was running out of time to say it, like Manon was about to slam the door on his face. “I do. And even if _this_ is all we’ll ever be I need to make sure he knows that. But if there’s even the slightest chance he could love me back, I…I need to fight for us, you know?”

Everything is magnified in the quiet of the apartment. Lucas feels Manon’s sigh down to his bones. “I know,” she says.

Silence. Knowing Manon, she’s running over the options in her head, deciding which route is the best way to protect Lucas. He prays she tells Eliott to go away, because with every second that passes, Lucas is inching closer and closer to the front door.

“Eliott,” she begins, voice softer now. “I’m not going to let you in.”

“I don’t want to come in!” Eliott interjects, fervent and sure. “I don’t. Will you please just give this to Lucas?”

There’s a rustling, the telltale sound of something exchanging hands across the threshold. Whatever it is, it’s good, because Lucas hears Manon’s small gasp from his hiding spot in the kitchen.

“Please, Manon,” Eliott begs. It tugs at Lucas’ heart and he clutches at the counter, knuckles white with despair.

“I’ll give it to him, Eliott. I promise.”

Eliott sighs in relief and Lucas hears him thank Manon before the front door clicks closed. Lucas straightens up, turning towards the entryway with wide eyes as Manon’s soft footsteps pad closer.

Cradled in her hands is a snow globe, a few specks of glitter swirling around with the swing of Manon’s gait. Her fingers block the center figure, but the bottom is painted in warm hues, fall foliage curling around the base and creeping up to frame the globe. She places it on the counter, in the corner farthest away from Lucas.

“For you.”

She slips by him and retreats to the bathroom, forgoing the breakfast laid out just before her, and Lucas waits until he hears the door snap shut before creeping over to where the snow globe rests. He picks it up carefully, gentle fingers gripping the ridges of the trinket.

It’s from Montreal. A souvenir snow globe from one of the cheesy stands Eliott has always adored. The base is a nature scene, autumn tones sweeping across trees and bushes to frame a river. A gold plaque at the front proclaims the city’s name along with a national park, and Lucas trails his eyes up to examine the actual globe.

In the center of the glass dome sits a hedgehog. It’s playing in the leaves, surrounded by bundles of red and orange and yellow and brown, and a few broken pieces are caught in its spikes. Lucas gives it a shake and glitter tumbles around the globe, sunlight raining down on the tiny creature. A smile spreads across his cheeks before he can stop it.

A hedgehog. A Lucas. And Eliott’s raccoon is nowhere to be found but at least the hedgehog is in Montreal with him.

Where the _fuck_ would Eliott have even found something like this?

A note is taped to the underside of the base, and Lucas carefully pulls it off and unfolds it to read the message inside, warmth filling his chest at the sight of Eliott’s still-familiar scrawl.

_I’ve been waiting nearly two years to give you this. I hope you like it. Love, your Eliott. _

Lucas’ heart pounds against his ribs and the room spins a bit as his breath hitches. The snowglobe is suddenly twenty pounds heavier.

He runs to his room, slamming the door behind him and resting his back against it as it shuts. His breath is coming quick now, bursting exhales as he stares down at the snowglobe in his hands, arms aching with its weight. With a feather-light pressure, Lucas traces over the base, letting the tips of his fingers get caught in the ridges of the design as they smooth over the autumn scene. His thumb swipes over the plaque at the front and the engraved _Montreal_ is cold to the touch.

_Fucking Eliott._ He’s not going to fall for this; he can’t. Lucas isn’t going to cave and go crawling back to Eliott after a single gift, a stupid cheesy snowglobe meant to wear him down with some vague, bullshit declaration. Doesn’t matter if the snowglobe is two years old, a souvenir Eliott bought and held onto through months of silence, months of uncertainty. Doesn’t matter that Lucas’ heart is warmer than it’s ever been and his veins thrum harder the longer he looks at the trinket.

One gift doesn’t mean shit. It’s nothing more than Eliott getting rid of a piece of clutter he’s been stuck with for years. No matter what he says, and no matter who he says it to, he still doesn’t love Lucas. He doesn’t._ He can’t._

Lucas lets out a sigh, dropping his head back against the door and letting his arms fall against his hips with the weight of the snowglobe. There’s a slight click on the other side, followed by the padding of feet and the scraping of silverware. Manon figured the coast was clear, then.

With one last flip and swirl of glitter, Lucas puts the snowglobe on top of his dresser, letting the afternoon sun catch the shining flakes as they fall around the hedgehog. He tucks the note in under it. Another swipe over the Montreal plaque and he’s out of the room, pushing it from his rushing mind and his clenching heart as he goes back out to meet Manon for breakfast.

They eat in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, all yelling can be channeled into the comments below or to my askbox on my [tumblr, tawmlinsun](https://tawmlinsun.tumblr.com)
> 
> also!!! kudos are very welcome!!! :) 
> 
> ficpost can be found [here](https://tawmlinsun.tumblr.com/post/611952151186604032/gold-to-you-its-going-to-kill-me-to-leave-you)
> 
> thank you for readingggggg ♥ see y'all for the next one!!


	4. does your heart still remember my name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiii ♥ welcome backkkkkkk ♥
> 
> so i took a literal ten month hiatus from this fic. 
> 
> i'm sorry for the wait on this chapter. taking care of my mental and physical health had to take priority over writing last year, and this chapter got seriously delayed as a result. (good news tho is that i also bit off more than i could chew with this one and split it into 2 chapters, so chap5 is already about halfway written, and also you're getting another chapter out of me alksdf)
> 
> i also want to give the biggest thank you to every single anon who has messaged me about this fic in the past few months. y'all really gave me motivation to pick it back up again and try to write little bits at a time, just do what i can ♥ it means so much to me to know that there are people out there who still care about this fic ♥♥♥
> 
> fic playlist is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Z104M3YK88waQQ6xCrSXE?si=wlJWgFR7Tk2-kgut7XaSbw) as per usual
> 
> chapter title from [from me, the moon - lav](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Hm6j5hngOs)
> 
> enjoy, y'all ♥

Lucas finishes out the day spending as little time in his bedroom as possible. He cooks dinner with Manon, taking on more chef duties than normal (and frankly more than his cooking skills allow) and even offers to do the dishes after they eat. He takes advantage of Mika’s sleep-till-sunset tendencies and claims the television as his own, only to put on some action movie he has zero interest in and switch to another film 15 minutes later. And, when boredom is at an all-time high, he even pulls out one of his textbooks to get a head start on this week’s reading. The semester hasn’t even _begun_ yet and he’s already tackling the syllabus. (He snaps a photo of his little work setup and sends it to his mom. She responds with a Bible verse and he gets a little worried, but she follows it up with a good luck wish and a reminder that she’s proud of him. He smiles.)

It's busy, but it’s a bored busy. A bland, meaningless string of tasks to complete and check off the list that’s supposed to get him closer to feeling good and feeling whole and moving on.

And, for a minute, they work.

Cooking with Manon is always fun, and he finds he quite enjoys the work of creating a meal from scratch and having it all come together before his eyes. There’s something satisfying in it, a sense of control and care that builds a band-aid over the crack in his chest. And Mika — once he wakes up, at least — is sometimes entertaining, with his stories from the bar and his weekend festivities, always far wilder than anything Lucas has ever experienced.

But he can’t spend his entire day cooking with Manon, and talking to Mika can get to be a bit much after a while.

So, in the quiet, Eliott returns.

Lucas thinks of what Eliott would say about every movie he watches. He’d always paid close attention whenever Eliott would get into his film rants, because how could Lucas _not_ be mesmerized by the way Eliott’s eyes would shine and his hands would fly through the air in gestures far more dramatic than usual. And Lucas really thought he’d just been focusing on Eliott but apparently, he’d picked up some film terminology along the way. Suddenly he’s thinking about angles and framing and narrative and perspective and those action films are far more complicated than ever before. Hell, even random videos he comes across online are subject to full dissection.

Nothing is off limits, no matter how much Lucas hates how his brain delivers every syllable of film commentary in a voice that’s not his, a voice he knows far better than his own. 

It feels like the world was set up to remind him of Eliott and of _them_. From the moment it all began, there was an atom of Lucas and an atom of Eliott and the universe bloomed around them. They’re in the sun and the rain and the grooves of the pavement below Lucas’ feet when he walks to his mom’s clinic every other Saturday. They’re in the sound of planes flying far above Lucas’ head and they’re in the rush of the metro leaving the station. Every drop of coffee, every scuff of a sneaker, every stray pencil mark on his desk.

(But really, Lucas knows that this world is of his own making. He still pauses as he scrolls past his _E + L_ playlist each morning.)

The day drags on and every inch of silence sends a wail of torment straight to Lucas’ heart. They ricochet in his mind and do their best to drown out the echoes of Eliott’s voice. It doesn’t work.

And when the weekend comes to a close and the night finally rolls around, Lucas is left staring down the start of another school year without Eliott. Except this time, it’s not distance and timezones keeping them apart. 

Lucas doesn’t turn the lights on in his bedroom while he’s getting ready for bed. Just his phone’s flashlight pointed directly at the ceiling, casting shadows that creep along the walls, shrouding everything in darkness amidst a single shot of light. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glare off curved glass and artificial iridescent snowflakes. It’s not even all that bright, but it burns him all the same. He keeps his head down and dives beneath the covers.

He doesn’t really sleep. Lucas’ tossing and turning is interrupted by brief respites of rest, never more than half an hour at a time. A headache brews behind his eyes somewhere around 3am, and he surrenders to the dull throb as his heart calls out for rest.

Monday morning comes slowly, the inching creep of morning light sneaking up the building until it reaches his window and darts through the cracks in his blinds. Instantly, the ceiling is peppered with fragments of a rainbow, illuminating the room with splashes color he has no desire to see. Lucas turns on his side to try to escape the light when he catches the culprit of his room’s glow: that damn snowglobe. Even when Lucas is mad at him, Eliott is still here filling his world with color.

Before a second thought can even enter his mind, Lucas throws the sheets back and grabs the t-shirt he had discarded on his floor last night, throwing it towards his dresser so that it drapes over the snowglobe. The room goes back to black and white. _Lucky shot,_ he thinks, finally able to breathe.

He gets some rest after that, just an hour or two of sleep before his alarm is blaring beside his bed, begging to be snoozed until the last possible second. Lucas stares at the ceiling until the grooves in the plaster morph into fragments of Eliott’s silhouette (a cheekbone here, a shock of hair over in the corner, the curve of his wrist right above Lucas’ bed), then rolls out and puts on the first set of clothes within reach. There isn’t enough energy in his bones to think of anything but whether or not the garments are clean. He stumbles around the room, trying to rally his body into finishing some semblance of a morning routine, but things just won’t match up. His feet are dragged down with exhaustion but, somehow, his mind is already moving a mile a minute, all too aware of the snowglobe-shaped lump of fabric on his dresser and the fast-emerging desire to reveal what’s under it. By some miracle, he shoves everything he needs for class into his bag and darts out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

He trips over his own feet as it shuts, the thud bouncing. off the thin apartment walls and ringing in his ears. It catches his breath in his throat, choking him by surprise as he cuts himself off from what’s inside the room, at least for a few hours.

All he needs is a few hours and then maybe his mind will be clear again. He’ll be able to think things through for real. And maybe he’ll put _that thing_ in the back of his closet where it belongs. He doesn’t need another reminder of what he’s ruined, let alone one that scatters itself along every surface, nearly inescapable.

Just a few hours, and then Lucas will be alright.

* * *

The _coloc_ isn’t too far from campus, and Lucas arrives with a few minutes to spare before he’s set to meet the guys. He spots Yann and Basile over beneath a tree in the courtyard, and he weaves his way through students to get to them.

“Morning, boys,” Lucas greets, bumping fists with them as they both yawn. “Tired, Baz?”

“Yeah,” Basile groans back, rubbing his eyes with a fierceness that, to Lucas, seems like it should really hurt. “Why did I sign up for early classes, again?”

Yann huffs. “That’s your problem, bro. We told you to pick the later classes, but no, you just _had_ to go with a 9:30am.” He shakes his head at Basile’s scoff. “Just because Daphné prefers earlier classes doesn’t mean you have to take them.”

“Wha – No, I-,” Basile stammers, huffing to pull himself back on track. “Well, if she’s here I _might as well_ —"

“No Arthur yet?” Lucas asks, interrupting Baz’ latest attempt at embarrassing himself. He does a quick scan of the courtyard. “We’re meeting Imane in 10; if he’s not here in five, I’m leaving without him.”

Basile gasps from beside him. “_Bro,_ why would you do that?”

He barely has time to react before Yann is grabbing his arm, eyes wide as he fixes his stare on the other side of the courtyard.

“Incoming,” Yann whispers, and Lucas whips around to see Arthur speeding towards where they’re huddled by the tree. 

“Guys guys guys guys guys,” Arthur rushes, skidding to a stop as he clutches at Basile’s shoulder. “Somebody wanna tell me why I just saw _Eliott_ coming out of the administration building?”

_Fuck._

Lucas meets Yann’s eyes for a split second before he has to look away, not ready for the horrid mixture of pity and concern written in his eyes. He grinds his jaw instead.

(Of _course,_ Eliott would pick this uni. Out of all the schools in Paris, out of all the art schools and the _film schools _here, he had to choose the same general, normal, boring-ass university as Lucas. Fuck.)

“Eliott? Really?” Basile shouts, immediately perking up so he can search the courtyard, nearly shoving Lucas to the ground in the process. “Do you think he’s still there? If I leave now maybe I can catch him…”

Yann smacks Baz on the shoulder, no remorse even when the boy lets out a pained whine. His eyes flash, throwing a careful nod in Lucas’ direction. The pressure in Lucas’ jaw grows. 

“Okay, but _why_ is he here?” Arthur asks again, gaze darting between Lucas and Yann, clearly aware that he’s missed something. And Basile, being Basile, joins right in.

“You think he came back for us?” Another smack.

Arthur freezes, shifting his eyes away from a pouting Basile and back to Lucas. “I don’t think he came back for _all_ of us.”

Basile, lack of tact ever-present, lets out a long _oooohhhhhh_ as he gives up on his search in favor of staring at Lucas with wide eyes.

Lucas had known this was coming.

Yesterday was already hard enough living with the knowledge that Yann knew that Eliott was back, but it’s _Yann._ He trusts Yann with everything. The other two are his brothers just as much as Yann is, but — there’s not that history there. They weren’t there when Lucas’ mom first started having episodes, they weren’t there for the first doctor’s appointment or hospital stay, they weren’t there when his dad ran off without so much as a note left on the table.

Basile and Arthur don’t quite know the full extent of what happened between Lucas and Eliott. They were together and then they weren’t, and the boys took Lucas’ half-assed_ we just fell out of touch_ explanation as truth. Which is fine, really. Lucas doesn’t need them to know. It would just result in more sympathy, more shame, more _humiliation_ than he’s already felt. He doesn’t need that. 

Still, though, Lucas can feel their wariness emanating off them from every angle, but he swallows it all down and flicks his eyes back up at the group.

“He moved back to Paris for uni,” he spits out, adding a _didn’t know it was this uni_ under his breath.

The group erupts.

“How do you know —”

“Are you sure, because —"

“Did Idriss tell you?”

“Did _Imane_ tell you?”

“Where is he liv—”

“Is he a stude—"

“Do you think he’ll—"

“Guys!” Yann breaks it up, stepping in front of Lucas to shield him from where Arthur and Basile have stepped closer. “Chill, alright?” Quickly, Arthur backs up to give Lucas some space, yanking Basile’s collar back with him when the boy doesn’t move.

“Lucas?”

He sighs, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth as his gaze darts between the three boys in front of him.

“I saw him at the party on Friday.” (He doesn’t think they need to know about yesterday.)

“Did you talk to him?” Arthur asks, voice a little softer than before. Lucas chooses not to think of it as pity.

He nods.

“What did he say? Does he still want to be our friend?” Yann gives Basile yet another smack to the shoulder; at this point, it’s probably going to bruise.

“I think they had more important things to talk about than you,” Arthur scolds, rolling his eyes at his friend’s antics.

But then they look to Lucas, expectant and hopeful, and fear seizes inside his chest. _They can’t know they can’t know they can’t know should they know I don’t know if they can know I don’t know if I can handle it I don’t —_

He looks to Yann (he always looks to Yann), and his best friend’s soft nod gives him courage.

Quietly, so as to not be overheard by anyone around them, Lucas whispers, “He said he loved me.”

The guys erupt again, screams pulling gazes from around the square. The knowledge that Eliott is probably somewhere around here, can probably hear the guys yelling and might be one of the pairs of curious eyes he feels on his back, sends a shot of freezing rain straight down his spine.

“Hey! Guys!” Lucas yells, holding out his hands as if it would make them stop. “Look, it doesn’t matter, okay? What’s done is done. We’re both moving on now.” He says it with a nod, like it’s final, and Lucas doesn’t know if it’s to convince his friends or himself that it’s true. (His heart is pounding too loudly to let anything else sink into his veins.)

“Alright? It’s _done.”_ He waits for them all to calm down, to nod back, to show that yes, they understand and that yes, this is how Lucas’ life is now. No more Eliott.

“Look, we gotta go and meet Imane, so,” he says, throwing a weak arm over Arthur’s shoulder, “shall we?”

Arthur hesitates, and Lucas can see the gears working in his head as he glances around to the rest of the group. Lucas doesn’t want to look their way and feel that shame all over again. “We shall,” Arthur finally answers, clapping him on the back twice. They say their goodbyes to Yann and Basile, indulging the latter in a rare _check de gang_, before heading off to find the science building where Imane and their Intro to Physics class awaits.

As they walk, silence falls where it doesn’t belong, an awkward moment of quiet between two loud boys in a busy courtyard, out of place in the worst of ways.

But Lucas’ mind is anything but silent. His mind races with the knowledge that not only is Eliott _here,_ as in _on campus_, as in _attending the same university as Lucas and upping their chances of running into each other before Lucas is ready by at least 112% percent_, but that Arthur saw him.

Lucas got to see Eliott while he broke his heart. But Arthur got to see the aftermath.

(Something twists in Lucas’ chest at that, the knowledge that he _hurt_ and he _destroyed_ and he has no way of knowing how deep the damage runs. His last image is of Eliott holding himself together with his bare hands, the moon casting shadows where there should be light, leaving the impact of Lucas’ words shrouded in darkness. He hates that picture almost as much as he hates himself for painting it.)

“H-Hey, Arthur?” Lucas starts, fiddling with his wallet as he pulls out his student ID, gaze trained on the stitching of each little pocket inside. He runs a nail over the grooves, letting their roughness distract him while he waits for Arthur to pull out his own ID.

“Yeah, bro?” he answers, letting out a little _yes!_ as he digs his ID out of his pocket.

“How did, um,” he chokes out, pausing to gulp down the nerves crawling up his throat. “How did he look?”

Arthur sighs, letting his eyes widen and cheeks puff out as he shakes his head. Something passes over his face when he looks back up at his friend, something that Lucas can’t quite place. “Like he hadn’t slept in days. Weeks, maybe. Just…” he trails off, loud gulp emanating in Lucas’ ears. “Not good, bro. Not good.”

A weight sinks into Lucas’ chest then, a slow fall that drags his heart down with it, taking it into the ground and far below.

Eliott had always worn his heart on his sleeve, but the people closest to him knew that the pain really showed up in his eyes. Whether it was a papercut or a bad grade or a harsh critique from their art teacher, one look into Eliott’s eyes wouldn’t just show that Eliott was hurting, but it would show how deep the wound went. Lighter, less intense things just gave off a slight fuzz, a dullness in the corner of his iris where the color was slightly less vibrant, and the shine would return with a hug and some kind words from Lucas or maybe Eliott’s parents.

But the bad stuff? The stuff that would push down on Eliott’s shoulders until he was inches from the ground, the stuff that sent rain down his cheeks and shrouded his drawings in dark scribbles for days? Those always turned his eyes grey. Not a single hint of green or blue. Like someone had put a vacuum behind his eyes and sucked out all the color until everything that made Eliott _Eliott_ was gone. And the color wouldn’t come back for days, no matter what Lucas tried, no matter what Eliott’s parents tried. It was a swirling thunderstorm of mystery and destruction and despair until one day, the green would slowly come back. Just a single sliver of hazel stretching across his iris, soon joined by a splash of teal and a stripe of turquoise and grass green until his eyes were back to normal, a smudged painter’s palette in shades of green and blue. It’s Lucas’ favorite color, and one he’s never seen replicated outside of Eliott’s stare.

Arthur would never even be able to tell him this, but Lucas thinks Eliott’s gaze is grey now. He doesn’t have the slightest guess as to when the color will return. 

* * *

Lucas commits himself to a weekend of doing absolutely nothing, save for a few reading assignments and a bit of prep for a lab he has coming up. He thinks he deserves it after the mess that was last weekend, thinks he deserves some calm after what was one of the worst storms of his life. The rest of the week hadn’t been much better, what with him devoting just as much time to his classes as he did to avoiding the courtyard, lest he catch a glimpse of Eliott (or worse, let Eliott catch a glimpse of him; he hates that this is what he and Eliott have come to, but he can’t figure out if he’s ready to change it). It feels like he actually spent more time this week ignoring the pitying looks his friends would shoot him every time someone even so much as _mentioned_ a party, let alone the party from last weekend.

It’s exhausting. He needs a break.

So, he starts his Saturday on the couch and decides that the couch is where he will stay. Snacks are acquired, movies are queued up, and he’s got his portable phone charger next to him, ready at the waiting. About halfway through the day Mika joins him, waking from his typical late slumber to plop down on the cushions beside Lucas. It jostles Lucas’ meticulous snack setup and he groans, adjusting the little tray he found deep in the cupboards so that it’s back to balanced.

“What even is this?” Mika asks, furrowed brow clearly disapproving of Lucas’ movie choices. And yeah, it’s an action film, and it’s not quite Mika’s taste, but his comment still sends a shot of annoyance right above Lucas’ eye, ready to bundle itself into a headache.

“The guys recommended it to me.” (Not quite, but Mika doesn’t need to know that. It’s something they’d all like anyway.)

Mika huffs, shifting on the couch to sink deeper into the cushions. Suddenly, he’s reaching over to Lucas’ tray and grabbing the bag of chocolate-covered pretzels Lucas was most excited about.

“Hey! What are you —” Lucas shouts, sitting up and snatching the bag out of Mika’s grip, pulling his snack tray closer to him for good measure. “These are _mine;_ go get your own.”

“But yours are right here," Mika whines, making another swipe at the pretzels clutched in Lucas’ grasp.

He scoffs. “Yeah, and the kitchen is right there.”

Mika huffs, rolling his eyes as he pushes himself off the couch and trudges over to the kitchen. Satisfied, Lucas settles into the cushions and focuses on his movie once more.

He’s just getting back into the film when someone knocks at the door, a loud rap that breaks through the symphony of sirens and crashes coming from the television. Lucas’ head snaps up in time with Mika’s. “Did you buzz someone in?” he whispers, knowing even as he says it that it couldn’t be true. The buzzer is over at the door; Mika hasn’t left the kitchen.

Mika shakes his head, startling when there’s another knock at the door. “Go check it out,” he hisses, nodding over to the hallway.

_What?_ “Why me?” Lucas asks, and only receives a vague hand wave in response before Mika shrugs and goes back to slicing up an apple (and one that Lucas had bought, no less). 

Huffing, Lucas abandons his snack and tiptoes over to the doorway, listening closely to hear if the person had already left. There’s a rustling on the other side and he looks through the peephole. _Oh, fuck no._

Lucas skids back through the hallway, rushing to the living room as quietly as he can on socked feet. He nearly collides into Mika as he flies into the room, but he’s in too much of a hurry to care. He snatches the remote, turning the television off completely and slapping a quick hand over Mika’s mouth when he goes to question it.

“He’s here!” Lucas whispers, jumping into a crouch on the cushions in front of where his roommate stands, throwing terrified glances back to the door and the boy that stands behind it.

“_Who’s_ here?” Mika asks, pulling Lucas’ hand away.

Lucas scoffs under his breath, shaking his head. “Who do you think?” He waits for Mika’s eyes to go wide with the realization before continuing. “I don’t know how the _fuck _he got into the building, but he can’t know we’re home!”

Mika’s eyes flash as the doorbell rings. “You know, I’ve never met Eliott,” he murmurs, slowly putting his snack onto the table and shuffling to the edge of the couch.

“_Mika_,” Lucas warns. He tenses, ready to spring forward towards the inevitable, but he never gets a chance.

In a split second, Lucas gets knocked back into the couch, shoved face first into one of their pillows as Mika dashes past him and disappears into the hallway, fast footsteps echoing down the corridor.

“Coming!”

Lucas panics. He flips around, shooting off the couch and tripping his way to the side of the room. “Mika! What are you doing?” he demands, voice quiet and trembling, words forced through tight teeth. Fear creeps into the back of his mind, heart picking up speed when he hears Eliott clear his throat behind the door. _Fuck._

Mika sighs, lips pursed as he looks Lucas over. (He can only imagine how ridiculous he looks right now, standing on the edge of the carpet, afraid to even step onto the hardwood of the hallway, shoulders tensing more with each second.) “I don’t know everything that happened, but I know that you have to talk to him sometime, Lucas,” Mika responds, slinking his way over to the front door. Lucas darts over to the other side of the couch, hiding himself in a corner for the second time in as many weeks. (And Eliott has no way of seeing him from the doorway, absolutely not, but he still hides, even turns his back to the door for extra protection.)

He holds his breath as the door’s lock clicks. 

“Well, hello there,” Mika greets as he swings the door open. “Are those for me?” Lucas whips his head around, curiosity telling him to peek into the hallway. _Another gift?_

Eliott laughs lowly and Lucas can picture the soft shake of his head, an embarrassed blush coating the tops of his cheeks. “Is your name Lucas Lallemant?”

“No, but it could be.”

Another laugh. (Fuck, Lucas sees it so clearly.) “Sorry, but that’s not the answer I was looking for.”

There’s an answering whine from Mika, drawing another fit of giggles out of Eliott. “Is Lucas home?”

“Lucky for you, he is,” Mika drawls. “Wait here.”

Footsteps quickly get louder, the thuds punctuated by calls of _Kitten! _and _Lucas?_ and, with a reluctant sigh, Lucas stands up from behind the couch.

“Talk to him,” Mika mutters as he comes closer. “You can’t avoid him forever, and you deserve to have some closure on this, whatever it is.”

Lucas bows his head but, deep in his bones, he knows Mika is right. That doesn’t mean it’s easy, and it doesn’t mean it’s what Lucas wants. (Although, to be fair, he’s still a little hazy on what he _actually_ wants right now.)

“Okay,” he sighs, and he starts to walk forward but Mika stops him.

“Whatever happens, Lucas, I’m here for you,” he whispers, a solemn hand clasped around Lucas’ shoulder. It’s so out of the ordinary for him, so _not_ Mika, that Lucas is reminded that Mika is not all that much older than him. And no matter how happy, how carefree he may seem, there’s no doubt in Lucas’ mind that Mika has felt this type of heartbreak before.

Lucas cracks a small smile, whispers _thank you_, and closes the distance between him and Eliott.

“Hi,” Lucas says, taking a tentative step in front of the door left ajar, hallway light leaking into the entryway. The fluorescent bulbs beam down on Eliott, illuminating the golden strands in his hair and catching on the grey flecks in his eyes, and a zip of electricity flashes down to the base of Lucas’ spine. But the glow also highlights the sleep bruising beneath Eliott’s lashes and the dullness of his skin. Lucas’ heart aches in his chest, wishing it could reach over the threshold to shelter its match.

“Hi,” Eliott responds, but Lucas has already zeroed in on the flowers in the other boy’s hands. The bouquet is made up mostly of sunflowers, their wide blooms reaching out to frame the few pink roses and orange carnations that peek through the sea of yellow. In the center, though, is a single hydrangea, periwinkle blue and perfectly full.

When Lucas was younger, his mother was desperate for a garden. Every spring, without fail, she would spend an entire weekend out on the balcony potting plants and setting them up just so. And within a few weeks, without fail, _every single flower_ would die. She just didn’t have a green thumb, simple as that. And frankly, neither did Lucas.

But when Lucas was thirteen, he brought his new friend Eliott over after a Saturday afternoon at the skate park. He had forgotten it was _the_ Saturday, though, and he unlocked the door of his apartment to find his mother filling up a glass of water at the sink, dirt-coated gloves dripping mud onto the counter.

“Are you gardening?” Eliott had exclaimed, wide eyes darting between Lucas’ mother and the trail of fertilizer leading out to the balcony.

“She’s trying to, at least,” Lucas had answered, coming around the counter to drag a stray paper towel over the smallest of the messes. His mother smirked at him, trading sly smiles as she turned off the faucet.

“Can I help?”

Lucas whipped around, surprised at Eliott’s request. “You garden?”

“You’ve been to my apartment, Lucas. All those plants are mine.”

Lucas let out a low whistle, throwing the dirty paper towel in the trash.

“He’s good, mama,” Lucas said to her. “Better than both of us combined.”

She let out a surprised gasp, grin brightening. “Well then, welcome to the team, Lucas’ friend.”

“Eliott, mama,” Lucas laughed, shaking his head. “His name is Eliott.”

“Welcome to the team, _Eliott_,” she amended. “I’m Louise. Let’s get to work.”

Eliott had nearly lunged at the counter, grabbing a pair of gloves and shoving them on his hands so he could start helping out. They spent the better part of the afternoon working in the miniature Lallemant (or maybe Lallemant-Demaury) garden. Eliott raved about Louise’s choice of seeds, pointing out sunflowers as his favorite and asking after her own preferences. Lucas had answered for her: “Hydrangeas, since the beginning of time.”

“And yours?” Eliott asked Lucas.

“Hydrangeas,” Louise cut in, walking over to wrap an arm around her son’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Just like his mama.”

Now, Lucas stares at the blooms in front of him. A single hydrangea for Lucas, surrounded by Eliott’s sunflowers.

It’s perfect. It hurts.

“Lucas?” Eliott whispers, snapping Lucas out of his trance. He comes back with a gasp, blinking away the memories clouding his vision and pulling his gaze up towards the grey eyes staring down at him, stopping at the dark circles creeping onto Eliott’s cheeks. Lucas can’t quite connect their stares.

He clears his throat. “Are those for…?”

“Y-Yeah, um—” Eliott looks down at the flowers in his hands, furrowing his brow as if suddenly shocked at their presence. Lucas stomps down the part of him that finds it endearing. “Sorry, I didn’t plan on stopping by, I just— I saw these on my way home and I couldn’t _not_ get them for you, and —”

Lucas nods, cutting the other boy off with his lack of response. His hand twitches with the need to reach out and smooth his fingertips over the petals, feel their softness and their delicacy beneath his pulsing veins.

There’s another beat of silence, of disconnect, and Eliott clears his throat. “Did you get my…?”

“Yeah,” Lucas says, offering nothing else in response. He lets his eyes slip shut and all he sees are rainbows against the darkness, flecks of color littering the space. They calm him, just for a second, but reality calls and he’s welcomed back by the harsh fluorescent glow of the hallway. It burns.

“What are you doing?” Lucas pleads, finally looking Eliott in the eye. He keeps one hand on the door, ready to slam it shut at a second’s notice. “After the party, I…I figured you’d want nothing to do with me.”

Eliott’s chin drops to his chest, shoulders heaving with a sigh. His thumb drags along one of the hydrangea’s petals before he looks back up at Lucas.

“Last year, I took a creative writing class,” Eliott starts. “The one thing my teacher said over and over and over was _show, don’t tell_.” He inches forward, dropping his arm and stepping into the empty space left by the bouquet. “So, if you won’t believe me when I _tell_ you I love you, I’ll just have to _show_ you instead.”

_Oh._

The words hit him square in the chest, pounding a crater into the space right above his heart, strong enough to knock the wind out of him. His breath leaves in a burst, and his jaw drops just slightly, teeth biting his lips back in place on a gasping inhale.

Of course Eliott would do something as cheesy and cliché and stupidly, _stupidly_ wonderful as this. Of course Eliott would put his kindness and attentiveness to work and remind Lucas of why he fell in love in the first place. Of course Eliott would use their lives and their history to show Lucas why _he_ fell in love in the first place, too.

The question now is if Lucas believes him. Or if he even _wants_ to believe him.

“I-Is that okay?” Eliott whispers. “Can I show you?”

Lucas’ head is telling him to run, to slam the door and send Eliott home, because Eliott will hurt him Eliott will hurt him Eliott will hurt him and Lucas will be left alone alone alone. _Again._

But out of the corner of his eye, Lucas sees Eliott scratching his fingernails against each other by his side. An old nervous habit, the one he always fell back on when rubbing his nails over his lips wasn’t an option. He used to say that it was the texture that calmed him down, the clash of smooth and rough that grounded him. It had never made sense to Lucas, really, but it had made sense that it was something that belonged to Eliott. Textures and feelings and all that.

It’s nice to know that Eliott’s still Eliott, even after moving an ocean away. Maybe Lucas does still know him.

Lucas’ heart starts to beat louder than the screaming in his mind, so instead of running, he says _yeah._ Instead of running, he says _that’s okay._

Eliott, smiling so wide Lucas feels his lips curling in response, leans forward to press the flowers to Lucas’ chest and brushes a kiss to the boy’s forehead.

Lucas lets him, frozen where he stands as he clutches at the bouquet’s stems. Flames erupt inside the imprint left by Eliott’s lips, two arches of heat and fear and excitement leaving their mark on Lucas.

“Goodnight, Lucas.”

It’s not until Eliott has walked away and the elevator doors close behind him that Lucas whispers a _goodnight, Eliott_ into the still hallway air.

Slowly, he steps back from the doorway, shaky feet taking him into the apartment. He’s a little dazed, and all he can really focus on is the way the bouquet’s plastic wrap crinkles under his grip, but somehow, he manages to shut and lock the door. The world doesn’t get to see him standing stunned and alone in the dark, he decides, flowers held right to his chest.

“Are you gonna put them with the snow globe?”

Lucas’ head whips up from where he had unconsciously leaned down to smell the flowers. Mika’s waiting by the kitchen counter, staring at the colorful blooms in Lucas’ hands.

“How do you know about that?” Lucas’ words are quick, sharp. His grip on the bouquet tightens.

Mika shifts his weight, unusually shy. “You, uh, you left your door open yesterday.”

Lucas quirks a brow, confused, before it dawns on him.

He made quite the pathetic picture last night, really, sitting on his bed while staring down at the souvenir in his hands, twirling it over and over to make the glitter swirl around the hedgehog. He had thought his door was shut but…apparently not. At least his _E + L_ playlist was playing in his headphones instead of out loud through his speaker. 

He clenches his jaw, breathing out in a huff as he looks away. “You should have just kept walking,” Lucas mutters, willing his voice not to crack as images of him curled around the snowglobe flash in his mind. “It’s not yours to see.”

Mika scoffs and rolls his eyes before settling onto one of their kitchen stools. “Kitten, when has that ever stopped me before?”

_Oh, dear god._ Lucas laughs before he can think better of it. “Very true,” he admits, shaking his head as he breathes out one last chuckle. He walks forward, stepping into the light of the apartment.

“I asked Manon if she knew anything about it and she said Eliott brought it over,” Mika prompts, brow raised as he leans forward, resting his arms atop his crossed legs.

Lucas sighs, shoulders drooping with the weight of the last ten minutes, the last week, the last two years.

“Yeah, he dropped it off on Sunday,” he starts, fiddling with one of the sunflower’s stems. “It’s from Montreal. He wrote a note that said he’d had it for two years but…I don’t know.”

“What? Lucas!” Mika smacks a hand down on the countertop, sitting up straight and getting ready to scold. “If he’s had it for _two years_ then —”

“Mika, I know what you’re going to say. _I know,_” he pauses, looking at his roommate with wide eyes, pleading him to understand. “I just can’t think like that.” Mika purses his lips, deflating as his gaze turns sad. “I can’t think the last two years were a lie. Because then I…”

“You what, Lucas?”

“I’d hope,” he breathes, feeling a lump forming at the base of his throat. “I feel it starting, but —” he trails off, begging the impending sob to just go _away_. “But I don’t know if I can do that. Not yet, at least.”

Mika nods, easing off the stool and coming over to where Lucas stands. He reaches out, cupping Lucas’ cheeks in his hands and pulling the boy’s gaze up to meet his own.

_“Try.”_

* * *

He’s stopped avoiding the courtyard now.

It was pointless, really, taking extra-long routes just to not step foot in the center of campus. Squeaking into class with only seconds to spare wasn’t really worth it in the end. And taking the easy way to class isn’t without its drawbacks, of course: the courtyard is always busy, even as the fall chill starts to set in, and he gets stuck behind slow walkers at times, but it’s fine.

And, of course, sometimes Lucas sees him. 

A flare of anger and longing ignites in his chest every time he spots Eliott amongst the crowds of students milling about between classes. Sometimes Eliott sees him, sometimes he doesn’t, but it’s always that same feeling sparking deep behind Lucas’ heart. A tug of war between his desire to run towards the source of his comfort and his wish to run from the source of his pain.

When they lock eyes, though, Eliott smiles. Without fail, he smiles. Lucas doesn’t always return Eliott’s grins (sometimes he can’t muster up the energy to lift even a corner of his mouth), but he always holds Eliott’s gaze.

The drawings are back, too. He found one in his pocket yesterday, even though he hasn’t seen Eliott in nearly a week.

Eliott was always a little sneaky like that, living up to his raccoon counterpart every time he slipped Lucas a drawing back in high school, passing through with only a scribbled-on post-it note to trace his whereabouts. Usually the drawings were in pen, the blue ink bleeding through the page and smudging around the hedgehog’s ears, but when Eliott was inspired by a lull in his math class, the doodles would be in faded pencil. Lucas always treated those a little more carefully than the others, folding them neatly and tucking them away in his locker for safekeeping, lest they somehow bump up against a stray eraser in his backpack and make half of a raccoon magically disappear.

Without fail, though, every drawing ended up in Lucas’ desk drawer. Layers upon layers of memories, neon pages going back to an era of braces and bad haircuts.

This new drawing is no different.

It’s on bright blue paper this time, a shade Eliott hasn’t used in years. The hedgehog and raccoon jump off the page as they always do, burrowing straight into Lucas’ heart and joining all of the other incarnations of _them_ that have popped up throughout the years.

They’re in the garden here, the one his mother used to tend to at their old apartment, the one they moved into after his dad left. The raccoon has gloves on and is reaching out to where the hedgehog holds a sunflower, smiling wide with dirt smudged along its cheek. A mirror of Bouquet Saturday, as he’s taken to calling that day, but one that puts them back in a place that Eliott knows Lucas holds onto so, so dearly. _Of course._

He presses along the creases with a featherlight touch, carefully flattening it out before laying it at the top of the stack in his drawer. The drawer closes with a thud. Lucas resists the urge to open it back up and make sure the stack of drawings is still standing tall.

* * *

September turns into October, and with it comes chilly temperatures and the looming threat of midterms on the horizon. Lucas starts spending more time in the library and in the lab, keeping company with Imane, Arthur, and their stacks upon stacks of notes. Most days they’re on campus well into the evening, taking the last metro home with tired eyes and veins pumping the final traces of caffeine through their systems.

Imane drills it into Lucas’ head all the time how he needs to focus hard on studying, because these first midterms are so important to their final grades. But, when his mind is clouded with exhaustion after hours of reviewing lab reports, the only thing he can manage to focus on is Eliott.

He wonders how Eliott’s classes are going, if he’s started any new projects, if he’s _finished_ any new projects since the semester began. Lucas doesn’t know a thing about their uni’s film program, but he figures producing short films would be part of it, right? Really though, he wouldn’t put it past Eliott to write and shoot another short film or two regardless of whether or not it’s even an assignment.

Lucas had always loved Eliott’s instinct to create and churn out works of art on a weekly, if not daily, basis. Tiny notebook doodles or five-foot canvases smeared with color and texture and light, short films for his portfolio or 12-second clips for his social media. It was art and it was constant and it was _Eliott._ A million extensions of himself that leapt past the visual, the physical, and spanned emotions that Lucas couldn’t even begin to name. The comfort that came with viewing Eliott’s latest creation is a feeling Lucas has tried to replicate a thousand times over in the past two years, but could never find again. He’s missed it. And the knowledge that there are new pieces of Eliott Demaury that exist in the world _right now_ and Lucas _can’t see them_ is a sort of pain he never knew possible.

He feels like he knows Eliott even less now that his art is out of bounds for Lucas.

But he pushes through it the best he can, snoozing in the back row of his one required writing class and doodling messy raccoons in his notebook margins on days he manages to stay awake. Lucas tries to move on in this weird new reality of having Eliott close but not close enough. He tries to live while knowing Eliott’s here and he’s laughing drawing creating _loving_ always 20 minutes or less from Lucas. It hurts_._

Lucas tries to move on, but there’s a thrum of forgiveness somewhere deep in his heart. It grows louder every time he passes by the glittering snowglobe and dried flowers sitting on his dresser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> healing is happening!!! he is growing!!! things are only going up from here!!!!! (i mean kinda bc Angst but!!! you know what i mean!!!!)
> 
> anywayyyy i hope y'all enjoyed this lil chapter ♥ i promise it will not take ten months to post the next one alskfjaskd
> 
> as per usual you can find me at my [tumblr](https://tawmlinsun.tumblr.com) and yell at me in my [askbox](https://tawmlinsun.tumblr.com/ask) ♥ kudos and comments are always welcome!!! 
> 
> also the ficpost is [here!!!](https://tawmlinsun.tumblr.com/post/640493969419206656/gold-to-you-its-going-to-kill-me-to-leave-you)


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